Grace Under Pressure
by MySadCaptains
Summary: Sherlock forgot to mention to John that he had a daughter who was hiding away in a boarding school. John only found out when she showed up on the doorstep... just before Sherlock's fall. (Another shameless Sherlock's daughter fanfiction! Read and review please!) SPOILERS New Cover Image
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, this is my first ever Sherlock fanfiction (that I've sent to anyone but my roommate) so I'm a bit (read: really, really, really) scared about how this will go down. I'm a few chapters in and decided to publish it right now so I can't back out!_

_Another Sherlock's Daughter fanfiction_

_Starts just after The Hounds of Baskerville!_

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**_Grace under pressure _**  
**_Cooling palm across my brow_**  
**_Eyes of an angel_**  
**_Lay me down_**

**_Grace Under Pressure - Elbow_**

John had already thought up a name for the title of the blog post he'd write that evening. The Hounds of Baskerville. He had told Sherlock but he hadn't seemed interested, let alone impressed. Of course, John didn't expect anything else. He knew that it was a good idea and that _someone _online would be impressed by it even if Sherlock wasn't. Even if Sherlock spent half of the journey back to the flat smirking and making small remarks about how he must miss his blog. That made the journey back seem a hell of a lot longer than it actually was.

"Thank God." John muttered under his breath when the door of 221B came into sight. It was Sherlock's turn to pay, or was it? Even if it wasn't he'd have to pay because John had already thrown himself out of the cab. He was ready to throw himself into the building, up the stairs and into the flat. He almost did and he would have if there wasn't a teenage girl perched on the small step before the door.

John's first thought was: 'another case'. A client this young was strange but certainly not unheard of. What was it this time? Her boyfriend could or couldn't be cheating on her? Her friend might or might not have sold her favourite dress behind her back? It would involve social media. With young people it usually did. God, that made John feel old.

"Can I help you?" He asked. The young girl looked up from the book she had been reading and smiled. John was taken back slightly when he saw her face. There was something familiar about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He watched her as she stood up, stuffing her book into her satchel. At her feet was a battered, dark suitcase with worn down wheels.

"John Watson?" She asked, her focus more at her satchel than him. She frowned slightly as her moves got more aggressive with the book. "Nobody's home... but Mycroft said...you two were..." She mumbled absentmindedly.

"I'm sorry. Mycroft?" John inquired, wondering if he heard correctly. With a small cry of triumph the girl managed to stuff the book into the bag. She opened her mouth to speak, looking back up at John but was cut off.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Sherlock almost barked. The girl licked her lips before letting them close. She smiled slightly at John before turning to the detective.

"I thought you could deduce anything. You should know why I'm here." She grinned, shifting the strap of her bag on her shoulder slightly. Sherlock stared at her, clearly not in the mood to be playing games. John watched on, wishing someone would explain what was going on. So far he had guessed that this wasn't just a normal case. The girl let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. Her grin fell slightly and her brow furrowed. "I've finished school." She said simply. Sherlock didn't even flinch. He just watched the young girl blankly. "Boarding school, Dad! I lived there. I have nowhere to live now."

"Dad?" John repeated. He let out a chuckle of disbelief and shook his head. "Dad?! Sherlock, what's going on?" Sherlock let out, what sounded like a cross between a sigh and a growl. He rolled his eyes and stomped towards the door to 221B. The young girl jumped out of the way, almost falling over her suitcase, as she tried to move out of his path. She watched his back as he stormed up the stairs and into the flat. Before even attempting to move, she shot John a look. A look that asked if she should follow him or just leave and give up already. John nodded towards the steps. He watched her collect her bags and run after her father, leaving John outside on the pavement alone as she dragged the suitcase up one step at a time.

/

"So all of those phone calls, all of those 'cases' you went on alone..." John asked seconds before the young girl, Alexandra she had introduced herself as, cut in.

"You never told him about me?!" She cried. "You told me a hell of a lot about him!" Sherlock looked over at her, his lips hovering over the rim of his mug.

"He never asked. _You _did." He replied smoothly. A blush crept up Alexandra's neck and rested at her cheeks. She avoided John's stare by looking at her lap. He wanted to stop staring at her, he really did, but it was so difficult. She looked like a small, female Sherlock. She had his cheekbones, his eyes, his pale skin. Her face was slightly wider, her hair thicker and much longer, she was smaller and she, of course, had the body of a young woman not a grown man. "You can live with Mycroft. You're in his care." Sherlock said, his voice rumbling through the room and pulling John away from his thoughts.

"I really can't." Alexandra snapped back. "I couldn't bear staying with him during school breaks. Do you know how many half-terms I spent in school to avoid it? I can't bear it. Everytime I do something wrong he threatens to call his friends in high places. Even _you _can't be cruel enough to send me back to him." Sherlock let himself smirk briefly before taking a sip of his tea. Alexandra copied, taking a gulp of the tea John had made for her before wincing at how hot is was. "Plus, I'm not in his care anymore. I'm sixteen. I'm an adult."

"In the eyes of the law you are in his care and you are still a child." Sherlock replied, all smirks and smiles gone now. Alexandra frowned, glaring at him.

"I wouldn't be in his care if you weren't a terrible father." She barked. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sank lower in his seat.

"Ah, yes. This again." He said calmly, with a wave of his hand. John shifted awkwardly in his seat. He wondered if they remembered that he was still there, sitting in his seat drinking a cup of tea and just watching them. "You always play this card when you can't have your own way, Alexandra."

"No I don't." She yelled. "It's just a fact. If you weren't more interested in drugs than raising a child then I wouldn't have been taken out of your custody."

"If your mother hadn't abandoned you when you were six..."

"If you hadn't run away the moment you found out she was pregnant!"

"I didn't run away. She ran away with you when you were one year old." John was amazed at how calm Sherlock could be in this situation. His daughter clearly didn't inherit his sense of calmness however. She was shouting with tears of anger gathering in her eyes.

"It's only running away if somebody wants you to stay. You didn't want us." She yelled.

"You speak so fondly of your mother considering she left you with me when you were six because she was more interested in her new boyfriend and recreational drugs." Sherlock replied, looking up at her. Her eyes filled with anger. She slammed the mug down onto the coffee table, splashing tea onto the surface. John prepared himself to intervene. He hadn't know Alexandra for that long but he wouldn't yet put it past her to smack Sherlock across the face.

"All of this shouting. What on earth is going on?" Mrs Hudson cried as she scurried into the room unannounced. John let himself relax. He doubted the girl would do much while Mrs Hudson was around. "Oh sorry." She said when she noticed Alexandra. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all." Sherlock said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Alexandra sank back into her seat. She wiped at the tea that had splashed onto her jeans, keeping her eyes from falling on anybody.

"Alexandra, this is Mrs Hudson, our landlady." John announced. She looked up and smiled, mumbling a small, shy hello to Mrs Hudson. Shyness, another trait she didn't inherit from her father. "Mrs Hudson, this is Alexandra." He paused, excited for Mrs Hudson's reaction to his next sentence. "She's Sherlock's daughter."

"Daughter?!" Mrs Hudson cried. The look of shock on her face was evident. Alexandra looked as if she didn't know whether to be amused or upset. She smiled up at the woman who was busy taking in her appearance. "Oh no. I don't believe that. Sherlock, you've never mentioned a daughter."

"He's ashamed of me." Alexandra said matter-of-factly.

"I am not." Sherlock spat back.

"He's ashamed of himself because I prove that he failed at some point in his life and proved him to be a human being with human emotions." Alexandra growled. Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but soon closed it and nodded ever so slightly.

"I don't fail." He said simply before taking another sip of his tea.

"How old are you, darling?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Just turned sixteen." Alexandra replied with a polite smile.

"Oh, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson exclaimed. She sounded somewhat disappointed. Alexandra seemed to love it. She smiled and looked at her father, nodding her head ever so slightly. "How could I not know about this? I thought it was just you and Mycroft."

"Oh trust me. He wishes it was." Alexandra mumbled under her breath.

"No. I wish it was just me." Sherlock replied, offering a sarcastic grin. Alexandra narrowed her eyes and sunk lower in her seat. She bit at the nail on her thumb, trying to hide any emotion that would cross her face.

"Are you staying with your father for a while?" Mrs Hudson asked. Alexandra shook her head, her eyes trained on Sherlock.

"He doesn't want me here." She said before looking up at Mrs Hudson with a smile. "And I'm homeless."

"You are not homeless." Sherlock sighed. His daughter's eyes fell back to him, narrowed and angry. "You have a perfectly nice room at Mycrofts."

"I want to live with my dad." She said slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a child. She nodded her head, her black hair bobbing ever so slightly. "Mycroft doesn't want me, anyway. I'm an inconvenience."

"We have a spare room, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson reminded him. "Family _is _everything."

"And I can pay rent." Alexandra said happily. "Well... _I _can't. Mycroft can."

"Well, you'll need to talk to him first." John added, feeling like he needed to join in somehow. She looked over at him. Her eyes were neither annoyed nor kind. It was like she hadn't really made her mind up on John yet. Not that he could blame her. From her point of view it must look awfully unfair. She had been pushed away to a boarding school and he had showed up out of nowhere and moved in with her father. She must be jealous. Like a child whose single parents got a new partner...

"You won't have to wait long." She replied, cutting John off from his train of thought. "As soon as he realises that I'm not at the library as I said I was and my suitcase and half of my clothes are missing..." She trailed off, hearing a knock at the door. Mrs Hudson left the room to answer it and Alexandra let out a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. With her eyes shut and her hands to her pale face she looked terrifyingly like Sherlock. "There he is. It's like living in a jail." She opened her eyes and let out a small groan of annoyance. She began to bite at her nails, only looking up to shoot Mycroft a glare when he walked into the room.

"Ah, Alexandra, I expected to find you here." He said smoothly as he stood near the sofa where Alexandra sat. She sighed and sank back into the seat slightly, as if she was trying to look comfortable and at home but couldn't quite get it right. She stilled looked rather nervous with tense shoulders and fingers that couldn't stay still. "She's spoke about nothing but living with you since she started her final year of boarding school." Mycroft said, now addressing Sherlock. Alexandra blushed and looked away.

"Flattered." Sherlock said, sarcastically.

"Mrs Hudson says she has a spare room." Alexandra said to nobody in particular. Her voice was quieter than it had been. Each word sounded thought out and almost rehearsed. "The college I was accepted to is only around the corner. It's an eighteen minute walk. It's a much further walk from Uncle Mycroft's house. I checked." She paused and looked up at her uncle. "The money you spend on boarding school can just be shifted over to being the money you pay for my rent. I'd even get a job."

"Alexandra..." Mycroft sighed, his voice a warning to her. John could tell that the two had been over this so many times. It was strange to think that there had been talk about a new tenant moving into the flat, Sherlock's own daughter, and he had only just found out that she existed a few minutes ago. He felt rather annoyed actually. How could Sherlock leave this piece of information out and how had he himself not noticed?

There must have been evidence somewhere. A fathers day card, a phone call that John answered, a gift for a teenage girl lying around the flat near her birthday, a framed photograph, a nostalgic drawing made by a child, some sort of fatherly concern that would make Sherlock seem human. Surely, there was something that John had missed.

"Isn't this what everyone wanted?" Alexandra snapped suddenly. "The social services said their goal was to get me back with my parents... or parent." She paused once more, glaring up at her uncle with such hate. "I'm not moving back in with you. I'm never going to your house again."

"She certainly takes after you with stubbornness." John commented, trying to lighten the mood. Sherlock didn't look too happy with that comment. A small flicker or a smile came across Alexandra's face while Mycroft simply ignored him.

"It's not my decision, Alexandra." He said. "Believe me, if I could send you back to boarding school for another year or so, I would. At least when you were there I didn't have to deal with your monthly mood swings." A look of disgust was evident on his face for a second or two before he looked over to Sherlock,a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Anyway, It's your father's decision."

"Well, I'll need to talk to John..." Sherlock replied.

"Oh, I don't mind." John replied quickly. Sherlock shot him a rather angry and surprised look but John just shrugged. "She's your daughter, Sherlock. You can't just throw her out." Sherlock bit at the insides of his lips, a silent word going between him and John, before he turned back to Alexandra.

"My work..." Sherlock tried, only to be cut off by Alexandra.

"I won't interfere." She shot back quickly. "And I'm sixteen. You don't need to look after me. I'm almost an adult."

"It's not that simple." Sherlock retorted, his voice raising ever so slightly as he got more and more frustrated.

"It was simple enough when John moved in with you." She remarked. Her voice was quieter with a small hint of sadness. Her brow furrowed as Sherlock's relaxed. He watched her silently. John wondered if he had imagined it or if he had seen a look of guilt run across Sherlock's face. "You knew him for about five minutes before you offered to look at a flat with him. I'm your_ daughter_."

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_Thank you for reading. Please review :) _


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a few months now since Sherlock's daughter had moved in and not much had really changed. She had started college and, true to her word, she didn't interfere with anything. She stayed quiet in the living room or hid in her bedroom when she wasn't in college. She sorted out her own meals and tidied up after herself. The only thing that had really changed was the increase of girly-items in the house that couldn't be passed off as John's or Sherlocks (fruit-scented shower gels and shampoos, sanitary towels, _a special type _of painkillers and about a million hair clips).

"Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock snapped as he threw a newspaper onto the coffee table. Alexandra, who had been sitting on the floor reading a book, jumped in shock. She looked up at her father and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"I hate that word." She said as she closed her book, placing it next to the newspaper on the table. "I wish they'd give you a better sounding word. Like genius or mastermind or one that truly describes you... like smart-ass." Sherlock shot her a glare. She bit back a smile and sank lower into the ground, her knees coming up to her chin.

"Everyone gets one." John said without looking up from the paper he had been reading for the past ten minutes.

"One what?" Sherlock asked.

"Tabloid nickname. SuBo. Nasty Nick. Shouldn't worry. I'll probably get one soon."

"You already do." Alexandra said, looking over her shoulder at John.

"Page five, column six, first sentence." Sherlock stated. As John searched for the page, Sherlock stormed over to the fireplace. He snatched the deer stalker and gave it a punch. "Why is it always the hat photograph?" He wondered angrily as he glared at the headwear.

"_Bachelor _John Watson!" John cried.

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock asked nobody in particular, ignoring John completely.

"It's an old man hat." Alex offered. "Like a flat cap but worse. People actually look good in flat caps. People actually _wear_ flat caps. Nobody ever saw Justin Timberlake wearing a deerstalker."

"Bachelor! What are they implying?" John fumed. Alexandra bit back her lip, knowing that he wasn't actually looking for an answer. Especially, not the one Alexandra wanted to offer.

"_Is_ it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?" Sherlock continued.

"It's a deerstalker, dad." Alexandra sighed.

"Frequently seen in the presence of _bachelor _John Watson!" John exclaimed. The word, Alexandra thought, was starting to lose it's meaning to her.

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do with it?" Sherlock ranted.

"Throw it." Alexandra offered.

"_Confirmed _bachelor John Watson!"

"Some sort of death frisbee." Sherlock added as he pretended to throw the hat across the room.

"OK. This is is too much." John finally declared as he put the newspaper down. "We need to be more careful." Alexandra looked up at him. She knew he couldn't be talking about her. She wasn't in the newspapers at all. She avoided the publicity by lying low and never admitting who she really was. A reporter had asked her once who she was and she managed to mumble something about being related to Mrs Hudson.

"It's got flaps, ear flaps! It's an ear hat." Sherlock grumbled. He skimmed the hat across the room. Alexandra raised her hand, grabbing the hat before it reached John. She pulled it down onto her head and smirked. She didn't know why her father complained so much. The hat was actually rather comfortable. "What do you mean 'more careful'?" Sherlock asked. His attention was back on John now that it wasn't being distracted by the hat.

"I mean that _this _isn't a deerstalker now." John said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the hat currently on Alexandra's head. "It's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean, you're not a private detective anymore." He held his thumb and forefinger apart ever so slightly. "You're this far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock replied casually. He slumped down into his armchair, hands together in front of his mouth.

"It'd better pass. The press will turn Sherlock. They always turn and they'll turn on you." John told him. Alexandra stayed quiet. Her hand absentmindedly began to fiddle with the ear flaps on the hat.

"It really bothers you." Sherlock pointed out.

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes." John replied with a nod of his head.

"About me? I don't understand. Why would it upset you?"

"Just try to keep a low profile." John sighed. "Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news."

"Can't." Sherlock replied swiftly. "Alex has a list." John looked at Alexandra curiously, an eyebrow raised. She shrugged and looked down at her feet nervously. "I told her I'd be able to solve ten famous unsolved mysteries in a day. She's choosing them herself... from the internet." Alexandra nodded and looked up at John with a smile.

"It can wait." John said firmly. "They'll still be unsolved in a week."

/

"No college today?" John asked as Alex walked back into the flat, throwing her bag down onto the floor angrily. She stomped through the living room and into the kitchen, totally ignoring her father who was hunched over a microscope.

"Nope." She said, popping her words. She yanked open the fridge and pulled out a pint of milk. "The tutor wasn't in but nobody bothered to tell me until I got there." She unscrewed the lid, ready to gulp down a few mouthfuls of milk.

"Mug." Sherlock called without looking up. Alex sighed before finding her mug and pouring the milk into it, all rather aggressively. She placed the milk back into the fridge, not even flinching at the sight of the decapitated hand in there. She had certainly gotten used to life with Sherlock very quickly. When she first moved in she screamed and yelped at the sight of any body part not connected to a living human. Now she barely batted an eye.

"I understand how he feels." Alex grumbled as she looked up at the mannequin that hung by it's neck from the kitchen's door frame. "I have an exam soon and I'm not nearly prepared. My tutor couldn't chose a worse time to be off." John looked up from his paper, with a frown, suddenly realising that he didn't actually know what Alex studied.

"What course do you take?" He asked. She stared back at him blankly, totally unprepared for the question. She licked her lips and looked around the room nervously.

"Well..." She started. Sherlock's phoned bleeped, indicating a text. Alex spun around gracefully before swiftly striding over to the phone. "I'll get it for you." She chimed even though Sherlock had made no effort to move. Scooping up the phone, she let herself read the message that had flashed up on the screen. She frowned and looked up at her dad. "Here." She whispered.

"Not now. I'm busy." He grumbled without even looking up.

"Dad." She said cautiously. John, realising that something was wrong, looked up at the girl and slowly got to his feet.

"Not now, Alexandra." Sherlock hissed.

"Who's Jim Moriarty?" She whispered even though by the sound of her voice John suspected that she already knew he was bad news. Sherlock lifted his head and snatched the phone away from her. The message read:

_Come and Play_

_Tower Hill_

_Jim Moriarty x_

/

Alex was far more interested in Moriarty than anyone expected her to be. She had begged both John and Sherlock to tell her the story about the pool more than once. John was sure that by now she could recite the whole thing backwards herself. Despite this, she still always wanted to hear somebody else tell her. She was almost like a child wanting a bedtime story. She clung to every word like she was hearing it for the first time. It made John worry at first. He knew what teenage girls were like with their strange crushes on the 'bad boys'. He mentioned it to Sherlock but he just brushed it off. He was almost considering asking Mrs Hudson to talk to her about it when it suddenly fixed itself.

"He sounds as if he loves himself." She announced one evening close to the court date. She was sprawled over the sofa, eyes glued onto the television that was showing a short news story on the upcoming trial. Sherlock was in the bathroom. She frowned to herself, her nose screwing up. "I don't like the Irish accent."

"I thought all girls fainted when they heard an Irish accent." John commented as he looked up from his newspaper briefly. Alex shook her head. She picked up the remote and turned over, finding some channel playing a repeat some stupid reality show about a family with far too many children.

"I had a roommate in school with an Irish accent." She mumbled. "The charm wears off."

"Good to know you won't be charmed into running away with him when we go to the trail." John said casually. Alex looked over at him curiously.

"Am I coming to the trail as well?" She asked, trying to hide the excitement in her voice.

"If you want to." John said. "I spoke to your dad about it. He's glad you're taking an interest in his work." He watched as Alex grinned a goofy grin to herself and sank lower into the seat. She buried her mouth into the collar of her hoodie and let her eyes wander back to the television.

"I've _always _been interested in his work." She admitted, her voice muffled by her jacket. "He just never let me get close enough before."

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_a/n: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews and favourites and alerts and all of that lovely stuff. You guys are amazing. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter but I promise the next one is much longer. Please review! _


	3. Chapter 3

It would be a lie to say that Alex wasn't nervous about attending the trial. She had never been to one before. She didn't know what to expect. All of her expectations were based on movies and television programmes. She tried not to show her father how nervous she was. All she ever really did around him was try to impress him, try to earn his acceptance, so admitting that she was nervous about something that he was taking so easily, would be a huge mistake.

"You're the girl who lives with Sherlock Holmes." A voice stated as soon as Alex had pushed herself out of one of the toilet cubicles. She jumped slightly. In front of the sinks was a woman, smiling at her and wearing a deerstalker as well as a homemade badge that read 'I heart Sherlock'. Alex never knew her father had fans. She knew he had people who liked him work, read John's blog and sometimes sent fan mail but she didn't know he had fans like this. Fangirls who would scream over him like she herself would scream over a band.

"Yeah." She said slowly. "Kind of. I don't really want to be known as 'the girl who lives with Sherlock.'"

"So I'm assuming..." The woman started, taking a step forward as if she were trying to imitate her new found hero, Sherlock, and deduce the girl in front of her. Alex, instinctively, took a step back. "Girlfriend?" Alex's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed in disgust of the idea. Her father? Girlfriend? No. Ew.

"I'm sixteen." She yelped. The woman just nodded to which Alex shook her head. "No. He's Sherlock. He doesn't... Oh God. No."

"You can tell..."

"You just want a scandal to publish in the newspaper. I'm sixteen. He's Sherlock Holmes." Alex babbled.

"I'm a fan." The woman replied calmly.

"A fan with a dictaphone." Alex exclaimed, gesturing to the dictaphone that was sticking out of her pocket. She let out a sigh and pushed it down, out of view, and looked up at Alex again. "Either you're a reporter or a very inventive fangirl with a big budget." The woman smiled. She seemed to be impressed, offering a hand for Alex to shake.

"Kitty Riley." She said. Alex reluctantly shook Kitty's hand.

"Alexandra." She replied. "I don't... I don't talk to reporters. I'm sorry."

"When they turn on him. You'll need someone from the media. Someone on your side." Kitty said. Alex took a side step. She wasn't really comfortable with this. Speaking to a reporter, even when she wasn't giving any good imformation, felt like she was going behind her father's back.

"I have nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes." She lied, loudly and confidently. With that, she left the toilets, almost bumping into a woman who was entering. She let herself dodge in and out of the crowd quick enough to lose Kitty. Soon enough she found John and Sherlock.

"Are you OK?" John asked as he placed a hand on her shoulder. She nodded a bit too enthusiastically. John probably already guessed that she was nervous so it was certain that Sherlock knew. She couldn't help it. She felt so out of place in such a official building wearing something that wasn't a band t-shirt and jeans. She had to find her old school uniform from the back of her wardrobe and _somehow _make that work. She ended up just wearing the black skirt and white shirt of her uniform and rooting out one of her less worn-out black cardigans. She still stuck out like a sore thumb with her scuffed shoes and clothes that were either too small for her or too large.

Everyone else in the courtroom, when she and John got there, looked so comfortable, as if they lived there. Even John looked like he was in the right place. Even the one person who should be uncomfortable, looked as if he owned the place. James Moriarty. He was even more terrifying in person. He made Alex get shivers up her back. Every time he turned to look in her direction she planted her eyes on her lap. There was no way she wanted to look into his eyes. She felt like she was intruding. She spent the first part of the trial fidgeting nervously with a loose button on her cardigan. That was until her father was called up to give evidence. Then she hung on his every word.

"Jim Moriarty..." He said. "Is for hire."

"A tradesman?" The prosecuting barrister prompted.

"Yes." Sherlock answered. Alex felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. She hadn't even realised she was leaning forward so much. She looked over at John who had pulled her back. She understood the look in his eyes. She had seen him give it to her father a few times. It was the look that read 'don't look so enthusiastic'. She shot him a guilty smile and leant back in her seat.

"But not the sort that would fix your heating." The barrister said, some sort of poor attempt at a joke.

"No." Sherlock replied. "The sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler." A few people in the courtroom laughed. Alex held hers back. She knew that John wouldn't be too happy about her giggling in a courtroom.

"Would you describe him as..." The barrister started only to be cut off by Sherlock.

"Leading."

"What?"

"You can't do that. You're leading the witness. He'll object and the judge will uphold." Sherlock replied. Alex winced. This wasn't the first time he had corrected a barrister or another official who didn't actually need his help. She put her head in her hands, knowing that the Judge probably wouldn't take her father's shit for much longer.

"Mr Holmes." He warned. Alex turned to John.

"He's going to get kicked out." She whispered, ignoring her father. "Can you get kicked out of a court room?"

"We're in a room with a lot of powerful people. Being kicked out would be the best possible outcome." John whispered back. Alex let out a small breath of laughter and leant back in her seat. Deep down she knew that her father wouldn't walk out of the evidence box of his own volition. Dragged out, probably. He was certainly not going to let a judge get the last word.

/

"You're so embarrassing." Alex groaned as he father was lead into the waiting room from the cell he had been locked in. Sherlock glared over at her, annoyed that he had been, basically, told off by the judge. "I can't believe you did that."

"I'm so sorry that I embarrassed you in front of a group of people who had already decided that you weren't worth their time the moment you walked in." Sherlock snapped back sarcastically. Alex let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. Her eyes were trained on her father as he began to sign for his personal belongings. She was rather glad that no one from her college would have any reason to be close to the courtroom that evening. No one knew her father was Sherlock and she didn't really want them to find out like this. She'd rather tell them herself, instead of them see her pulling him out of jail cell.

"What did I say?" John asked angrily ."Don't get clever."

"I can't just turn it off like a tap." Sherlock replied as bag of his belongings was pushed across the desk. He then turned to John and Alex, looking at them curiously. "Well?" He asked.

"Well what?" John replied.

"You two were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, from start to finish."

"He's creepy." Alex blurted. "But he didn't seem as bothered by it all as he should be."

"It's like you said it would be." John added. "His defending barrister sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defence." Sherlock concluded. Alex stuck out her bottom lip in thought. Did the man _want _to go to jail? That was the only place he'd go if he carried on like this. Then again, she thought, there was still another day to go. Maybe he had a plan. By the look in his eyes, he seemed as if he always had a plan.

/

Sherlock chose not to return to court the next day. Well, he said he chose to but Alex assumed that he wouldn't be allowed back in anyway. John probably assumed that as well because he didn't even try to convince Sherlock to change his mind. What good would Sherlock be there anyway? He wasn't going to be giving evidence. He would be sitting in the gallery, probably correcting everyone on everything. It was in everyone's best interest that Sherlock be kept at home.

Alex decided to stay home as well. She leapt at the chance to spend time alone with her father who she desperately seeked acceptance from. Plus she didn't think she was up to being in the same room as Moriarty again. There was something so creepy about him that it drained her. Not creepy in a way that Alex was used to. He wasn't creepy or scary in a way that, say, older Charles Manson is. He didn't have wide, insane eyes and an unkempt beard or huge hands or a swastika carved into his forehead. He was scary in a totally different way. Scary in a way that was charming and pretty and slim and well dressed. She could totally cope with never seeing him in person again.

"You're not doing college work." Sherlock suddenly announced, making Alex jump in her seat. She looked over at him slowly. He was in his armchair while she sat by the window, laptop out on the table and fingers aching from clicking and clicking and clicking. She frowned at him before realising that he couldn't see her mouth as it was covered by the collar of her t-shirt which had been pulled up to just below her nose.

"No." She admitted, letting her collar fall back to her neck. She clicked off of the web page she was on (one which featured many beautiful photographs of many beautiful actors and band members). "I'm looking up unsolved mysteries." A smirk played on Sherlock's lips. He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow as if to say 'try me'. She smiled to herself before taking a deep breath and beginning. "Since 2007 several detached human feet, still in their shoes, have washed up on the coast of the Salish sea In British Columbia and Washington. Five pairs belong to men, one of a woman and three others are of people of unknown gender. Two of the left feet have been matched with two of the right feet. So there are two pairs. The rest are just singular feet. Only five of the feet have been have been identified to four people. The others are unknown and there was a 'hoax foot' placed in Vancouver Island."

"What types of shoes?" Sherlock asked, almost instantly. Alex frowned at him before looking back at her laptop. She scrolled through the article she was reading until she found what she was searching for.

"From what I can tell most of them, if not all of them, were trainers." Alex said. Looking up, she saw her father was on his phone. She briefly wondered if he had already got bored of their game. She leant forward to catch a glimpse of his phone. A map.

"Suicide." He concluded, placing his phone back in his pocket.

"Suicide?" Alex repeated. "These people just... off their feet and threw them in the ocean as a method of suicide?"

"No." Sherlock sighed. "Fraser River in Vancouver connects to the Salish Sea. The bridges there are a hot spot for suicides. Most of the feet come from men or women who have jumped from the bridge. Others will come from car crashes off of the bridge or accidental falling. A body will expel gas that will cause it to float but only for a few hours. Then the body sinks, starts to decompose. The limbs begin to separate and become food for the fish and marine life. Trainers have rubber soles. Fish can't chew through rubber or any other material that's thick enough to be on a running shoe. So they leave it and it eventually washes up on the coast."

Alex nodded slowly as she let it all click into place in her mind. "Cool." She said. "Makes sense." She spun back around to her laptop and began to frantically type. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Emailing newspapers." She mumbled. A small, slightly evil smile came across her face. "I'm selling them the answer to one of the biggest mysteries in the world." Sherlock let out a chuckle and sank lower in his seat.

She, like Sherlock himself, became totally cut off from the world when she became focused on something. It had gotten her into trouble countless times at school before. She was accused of 'ignoring teachers' when really she was just very focused on her work. Eventually, she taught herself not to focus too much on things that related to school. That probably explained her bad GCSE results. This, on the other hand, had nothing to do with school. It had a lot to do with money though. So she threw all of her focus into it and didn't even hear Sherlock when he began speaking to himself.

In fact she only snapped out of her own little world when a cup of tea was slammed down in front of her. She jumped and looked up. Her father was looming over her looking rather annoyed. "I said. You need to go to the shop and pick up some milk." He said, sounding as if this was the hundredth time he had had to say this.

"No." She mumbled before looking down at her laptop.

"I'm your father..." Sherlock began. He was cut off by a rather unattractive snort of laughter coming from Alex.

"Due to your past track record in fatherhood you can not use that excuse to tell me what to do." She laughed. "Plus, we have milk. I saw at least two cartons in the fridge this morning."

"It was worth a try." Sherlock sighed as he walked over to his violin. He shrugged to himself. "I knew you'd say no."

Alex couldn't help but smile as a feeling of warmth crept into her stomach. Sherlock was playing the violin, she was drinking tea and lying on the internet for money. This is all that she had ever wanted when she sat alone in her boarding school dormitory. This was her dream. This was great. Nothing could ruin this lovely, family moment.

Well, nothing accept a criminal strolling into your living room.

/

**_A/N: _**_I hope you liked this chapter. Could you pleeeeeaaasssseeeee review?_

_Thank you to everyone who favourited or alerted this story and a big thank you to my beta-reader **CaptainSkitzoVamp **who hasn't changed her fanfiction name since she was about 12. _


	4. Chapter 4

"Most people knock." Sherlock announced, causing Alex to look up. She frowned, for a split second she thought that John was back but she knew that Sherlock didn't speak in that tone to John. When she saw who it really was, she felt her whole body freeze. "But then again," Sherlock continued. "But you're not most people."

He hadn't turned to look at their visitor. Alex looked up at him with wide eyes. He didn't even glance at her. She wondered if he even knew that it was James Moriarty standing behind him. "Kettle's just boiled." He said simply. Moriarty strolled further into the living room, leaning down and picking up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table.

"I expected our little get together to be more... private." He said, throwing the apple up in the air and catching it. His eyes landed on Alex and she suddenly felt tiny and very, very self conscious. He was in a suit. Sherlock was wearing his white shirt, black pants and black jacket. Alex was wearing tartan pyjama pants with tears that had been sew back together, a faded Beatles t-shirt and a battered cardigan that was missing most of its buttons. It was an outfit fit for staying in all day, not meeting a major criminal.

"She stays in my sight." Sherlock said calmly.

"Another pet? My, my Sherlock. Aren't we greedy?" Moriarty smiled but he seemed to brush it off rather quickly. He looked down at John seat. "May I?"

"Please." He said, finally turning to face Moriarty. He pointed his bow at John's chair but Moriarty went straight to Sherlock's seat, probably just to annoy him. He didn't look up at Sherlock, who was looking slightly annoyed, and began to carve into the apple with a penknife he had pulled from his pocket. It was quiet for a few more seconds. Sherlock poured the tea from the kettle into three mugs. Alex watched him in shock. Not only was the man who had been on trial just yesterday in front of her very own eyes, in her house. Her father was also serving him tea. "Alexandra." Sherlock called, holding up a cup of tea.

"Thank you?" Alex mumbled as she got from her seat by the window and walked with shaking legs over to her father. She could feel Moriarty's eyes on her when she walked past him.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano, playing one of his pieces and before he got to the end..." Moriarty said as Alex took her tea and pulled up the chair that was usually designated to clients. She sat down, the chair admittedly being pushed more towards Sherlock's seat that Moriarty's.

"And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it." Sherlock finished.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody." Moriarty concluded.

"Neither can you." Sherlock said. "That's why you've come"

"But be honest. You're a tiny bit pleased."

"With what?" Sherlock asked as he lifted up a mug and handed it to Moriarty.

"With me back on the streets." Moriarty corrected. "Every fairytale needs a good ol' fashioned villain. You need me or you're nothing because we're alike you and I... except you're boring." He shook his head slightly. Alex shifted in his seat uncomfortably. She wanted to go back to her room. She tried to make herself ask Sherlock if she could but the words died at her tongue. "You're on the side of the angels."

"Got the jury, of course." Sherlock pointed out. Alex took another sip of her tea as she tried to figure it all out. Her first thought at the sight of Moriarty was that he escaped but from what her father was saying it seemed more likely that, somehow, he had been found not guilty.

"I got into the Tower of London. You think I can't work my way into a twelve hotel rooms?" Moriarty answered.

"Cable network." Sherlock said.

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen and every person has their pressure point. Someone that they want to protect from harm." Moriarty continued. Alex's eyes widened in realisation. "Easy peasy."

"You threatened them?" Alex heard herself cry in shock. Moriarty turned to face her with a smirk. She shrank back in her seat, instantly wishing she hadn't said anything. "That's horrid."

"Your new pet isn't as smart as the old one." He said, turning back to Sherlock. "I don't know why you chose her." Alex felt her mouth open in shock. She raised her eyebrows, looking at her father as if he was going to back her up. Tell Moriarty to step off and then click his fingers or something else very 90's movie like.

"I didn't." Sherlock replied. "She just... turned up."

"A stray..." Moriarty mused. Sherlock stuck his bottom lip out in thought for a second or so before nodding.

"Basically."

"Excuse me?" Alex gasped, rather offended by it all, but her father had already moved onto his next subject. "Rude."

"So how are you going to do it?" He asked. "Burn me?"

"Oh that's the problem. The final problem. Have you worked it out what it is yet?"

"What's the final problem?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty smiled across his cup.

"I did tell you." He almost sang. "But you did you listen?" Alex's head was already swimming. She was nowhere as near as smart as her father was no matter how many times she tried to prove to everyone that she was. She couldn't keep up with this. All of her childhood dreams of following in daddy's footsteps and becoming a detective just like him weren't looking as bright as they used to be. A different career seemed more appealing. Like childcare. You didn't get any of this cryptic nonsense with five year olds.

"How hard do you find it, saying 'I don't know'?" Moriarty asked.

"I don't know." Sherlock replied. Alex let out the smallest snort of laughter but soon covered it with a cough.

"Oh that's clever. Very clever, awfully clever." Moriarty smiled. Sherlock smiled as well. Any compliment made him smile, Alex thought, even if it was from his enemy. Big headed skinny man. "Speaking of clever..." He started. He let his eyes dart over to Alex who was currently taking a huge gulp of her tea. No matter how many flaws her father had, he made really nice cups of tea. "Did he tell you yet?"

"Tell me what?" Alex asked. Her voice sounded firmer and stronger than she felt. "There's a lot that he doesn't tell me."

"Why I broke into all of those places and never stole anything."

"Attention?" Alex guessed. Moriarty raised his eyebrows and smiled. She shrugged and brought the cup to her lips. "A desperate cry for attention?"

"Oh I like this one." Moriarty almost giggled. "I do need my own pet..."

"She's not for sale." Sherlock replied almost instantly.

"I'm also not a pet." Alex pointed out angrily. She turned to her father and narrowed her eyes. "I'll tell Uncle Mycroft that you..."

"Uncle Mycroft?" Moriarty cried. "Oh, Sherlock, you _dog_. I thought the girl was far too attractive to _want _to stay with you. Daughter though. That makes sense. She looks like you." Alex frowned and stared down at her lap nervously. Did Moriarty just compliment her and did he, by complimenting her, just call her father attractive?

"Alexandra, go to your room." Sherlock said smoothly. He didn't sound angry or annoyed. In any other circumstances she would have laughed, told him that he had no right to suddenly start acting like a father, but right now she just did as she was told. She got to her feet, tucked the chair back under the table and almost ran out of the room.

So much for not seeing Moriarty today.

/

Sherlock, John had said, needed distracting from the Moriarty case that had ended a week or so ago. To distract him, John had made him take up a case. It was something about a stalker, stalking a rich family in the countryside. Whatever it was, Alex didn't really care too much. She needed distracting as well but, unlike her father, an unsolved mystery didn't get her excited. If anything unsolved mysteries just annoyed her. So when Sherlock and John left that morning she decided that she would send a group message out to her friends from high school asking them if they'll come over. She hadn't seen most of them since she left and inviting them over while her father and John were out would be the perfect distraction.

/

"It's not even that scary, get over it." Alex snapped with a smug smile on her face as her eyes and the eyes of everyone else in the room, stayed glued to the television. One of her friends let out a small yelp as the main villain in the horror film jumped onto the screen. The rest of them laughed, some of them somewhat nervously. Their main attention was kept on the television up until the group heard the door creak open.

"Dad!" Alex yelped as she jumped to her feet and stumbled over to them. Sherlock and John stood in the doorway rather awkwardly, looking around the room that had been taken over by sprawled out teenagers and junk food. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon." She stated as she wiped the crumbs of food away from her mouth. She smiled up at her father seeming, for some reason, rather ashamed.

"Case was simple." Sherlock said as he slowly took off his coat and scarf, his eyes not leaving the teenager sat in his chair. "Previous jealous lover wanting more attention." Alex shifted nervously from one foot to another. She nodded a few times.

"Great." She replied quickly.

"Alex..." John started to say slowly. "Do you want to erm... introduce us?"

"Oh yeah." Alex said, turning on her heel to face her friends who had now paused the movie they were watching. She began pointing to the teenagers one by one. "Dad, John, this is Abigail, Sierra, Austin and Evan. They're my friends from boarding school." She paused and turned back to her friends. "Guys, this is my dad and his partner John."

"Not... partner." John mumbled awkwardly before Alex cut him off.

"Do you want to come in here because we can go up to my room?" Alex offered. She seemed rather nervous and eager to usher her friends away from her father. John couldn't really blame her. He could see Sherlock's brain working, deducing each teenager in turn.

"I need to be going now anyway." One of the boys said, getting to his feet awkwardly. He looked towards one of the girls and smiled. "Abigail do you need a lift home?" The girl he looked at nodded quickly, a blush rising to her cheeks as she got to her feet and quickly scuttled to the boy's side. They said their goodbyes and left, taking handfuls of junk food with them. As soon as the door shut behind them the remaining teenagers began to giggle and whisper.

"They're so about to get it on." Alex laughed before realising who she was with. She jumped ever so slightly before smiling sheepishly up at the two adults. Her eyes shot a sort of apology while she held onto the hope that the men didn't know that what she had just said was vaguely sexual. "We'll just be going upstairs." She mumbled, shooting a look at the two remaining teengers. They nodded quickly, mumbling under their breath reasons why Alex's room seemed like a good option. They followed her out of the living room like sheep, not making eye contact with Sherlock nor John as they passed them. As soon as they were out of sight they erupted into giggles once more. Sherlock winced in annoyance before walking across the hallway.

"Good to see she has friends." John offered as he sank down into his seat. Sherlock looked down at his own seat in disgust before leaning down and brushing away some crumbs.

"They're not _'about to get it on'_." Her stated before sitting down himself. John looked at him, confused. "The two teenagers who left. It's clear, really. The boy is gay and she is the only other one who knows about it. He doesn't want her to be around their friends without him in case he slips up, tells the others. He knows that his friends would accept him. Alex is very accepting. So why is he so determined to hide it? It's obvious. He's taking a liking to the other boy. The girl he left with, _Abigail,_ is clinging to the hope that the boy's homosexuality is just a phase. That he'll get over it and fall deeply in love with her. He won't."

"Impressive." John said with a slight nod towards Sherlock who was shifting about in his seat uncomfortably. "The other boy is he..."

"Gay? No." Sherlock dismissed with a wave of his hand. John sank down into his seat slightly as he began to think. He wondered if he should say something to Sherlock about the fact his teenage daughter was with a teenage boy in their room. Wasn't that supposed to be something that parent's had a say about? Then again, John thought, there was another girl there with them and the walls were paper thin. If there was any funny business then surely John and Sherlock would hear.

So with that safe in mind, John brushed away his worries and focused on creating a new blog post. A blog post that he became so immersed into that he didn't even notice the other teenage girl, Sierra her name was, leave the flat.

In fact, it was only when he began to get hungry that he looked up from his laptop. It was, by then, early evening. He looked over at his flatmate. His eyes were closed and his palms were pressed together, clear signs that he was in his 'mind palace'. John smirked and got to his feet. It was, in his opinion, time for dinner. He opened his mouth to ask Sherlock what he wanted but the second his voice escaped his mouth his stopped, changing his question completely.

"Is Alex still upstairs with her friends?" He asked.

"Friend." Sherlock corrected, eyes still shut. "The girl left about an hour ago. She has other commitments. Online friends, I think. Male friends. Male friends with webcams."

"So Alex is alone with that boy?" John asked, thinking back to the teenage boy. What was his name? Austin or Evan. One of those two. He was tall with limbs that were far too skinny and long and hair that needed a cut and a wash.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open in alarm. He leapt to his feet and, with only a few swift strides, left the room. John followed him as quickly as he could. That seemed to be his life at the moment, following Sherlock's long legged strides. He even seemed to be able to climb the stairs much faster than John. Then again Sherlock's daughter was, and had been, alone with a hormone filled teenage boy. That probably made the body be able to get from A to B quicker.

"Alexandra, it's time for dinner." Sherlock declared loudly as he pushed open her bedroom door. John found himself silently thanking Mrs Hudson for deciding not to let Alex have a lock on her door.

"Daddy!" Alex yelped as Sherlock and John walked into the room. She was lying on her bed, scrabbling to sit up and adjust her clothes. The boy on the other hand had fallen to the floor with a dull thud. His eyes were wide with panic and quite rightly. When Sherlock saw that the boy didn't have a shirt on he looked absolutely murderous. John could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He wondered if he was blushing half as much as Alex was.

"I should probably be going." The boy said, getting to his feet, halfway through yanking his t-shirt back over his head. Alex closed her eyes and screwed up her face, as if she was shutting out the world, wanting the ground to swallow her up. The boy watched her as he straightened his shirt. He smirked to himself before leaning down, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bye, Lex."

"Bye, Evan." Alex replied ever so quietly. Evan looked up and shot a broad smile at John and Sherlock.

"Bye." He said before he began to push past the men, eager to leave. Sherlock's hand shot out, grabbing the boy by the upper arm. He froze, looking up at Sherlock. Even though was was rather lanky, Evan didn't even nearly match Sherlock's height. Compared to him he seemed like a child. Then again, if he was in the same class as Alex, he probably still was.

"If you touch my daughter again I will personally see to it that you are not able to walk on two legs ever again." Sherlock growled into the boy's ear. He unclenched his hand, letting the boy run out of the room in fear. Sherlock let himself smirk slightly. Ah, it felt good to hold that sort of power over people. He was starting to see why Mycroft enjoyed it so much.

"It wasn't what it looked like." Alex said meekly, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. She was looking up at her father, almost curling up into herself, making herself as small as possible. She looked like a child who had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Are you sure?" John asked before Sherlock could answer. "Because from what I saw there was little else it could be mistaken for." Alex let her head hand in shame, she stared down at her lap, letting her fingers fidget there.

"You're a child, Alexandra." Sherlock snapped. "Do you want to end up like your mother?"

"Daddy, I didn't think..." Alex started, her voice full of emotion.

"While we were in the house, Alex?" Sherlock suddenly barked. "While Mrs Hudson was downstairs? At least wait until everyone is out of the house."

"Sherlock." John sighed. "That's not the point."

"I didn't want to." Alex suddenly yelled. She put her head in her hands and took slow, deep breaths. On closer inspection, she was visibly shaken up. What had seemed like embarrassment before was now coming across as fear. "I just wanted to kiss him. I didn't want to..." She trailed off, her body began shaking. John and Sherlock's eyes widened in shock and horror. They were silent for a second or so, neither of them knowing what to say.

"I'm calling Lestrade." Sherlock said.

"NO!" Alex yelled. She looked up, panic written across her face. "Nothing happened." She paused, looking anywhere but at her father's face. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. "I got scared. He was... and I... oh God." She let her hands clasp back over her face in embarrassment. "I don't want to talk about this with either of you."

"Well, I better be going." John said as he took a back step out of the room. Sherlock visibly panicked and almost fell out of the room in an attempt to follow John. He grabbed him by the upper arm, his eyes wide and staring back at John's.

"You can't leave me." He hissed. his eyes were practically begging him.

"This is not my place." John replied quietly.

"Well _I _can't talk to her about it." Sherlock shot back.

"You're her father!" John pointed out. "You need to find out what happened in there. She might have been... God, Sherlock, she's a child. She could have been raped."

"She said nothing happened." Sherlock replied.

"She could be lying. She _is _your daughter." John snapped. Sherlock stared back at him, his mouth falling open in shock and that's when John remember who he was talking to. Sherlock, the man who, up until Alex turned up on their doorstep, he had always thought was a virgin. He also knew that Sherlock was a drama queen so wouldn't be the best person to handle such a delicate situation. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. There was no way on earth he was about to go back into that room and ask for the details of what had just happened to his best friend's sixteen year old daughter. He ran through all the people he knew in his mind, trying to find someone who would be willing to come across London and make Alex comfortable enough to spill. He mind ran blank. Not only would many of the people he knew laugh at the idea of doing a favour for him, but a favour that big? No way. Plus, he didn't know many women who weren't his ex girlfriends. Mrs Hudson and Molly were the only exceptions it seemed but John would rather die than go downstairs to ask his landlady to come upstairs and pry into the possible molestation of a sixteen year old girl and Molly... well there was an idea. She was young, a female, kind and she would do anything for Sherlock at the drop of a hat.

"Call Molly." He said, sealing the deal.

/

Sherlock and John waited in the living room in total silence. There wasn't much they could say. The whole house just felt terribly awkward. The only time either of the men moved or showed any sign of life was when Molly finally walked back into the sitting room. She had been up there with Alexandra for a good while now. Although John expected that he had felt longer than it truly was.

Molly shuffled into the room with a small, amused smile. She looked up at Sherlock and raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. "She's fine." She said finally. "Just a bit shaken up. Nothing happened. The boy just got a bit... handsy." John felt himself let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Hearing another person verify that nothing had happened was comforting. "She's worried you're going to call Lestrade."

"Of course not." Sherlock shot back, sounding somewhat offended. Molly sat herself down in the spare seat. "I've rang Mycroft."

"There was really no need." Molly replied but she couldn't help but let a small smile appear on her face. She shook her head and looked back down at her lap. "It was just a overly-hormonal teenage boy..."

"Who put his hands up my daughter's shirt without her consent." Sherlock finished. John didn't offer up an argument. He could see where Sherlock was coming from and he totally agreed. What would have happened if they hadn't come up to check on her at that moment? What if they just left her?

"She's a lot like you, you know?" Molly stated.

"I _did _give her 50% of her DNA." Sherlock pointed out sarcastically. He then, with a wave of his hand, dismissed the claim. "Apart from that she's nothing like me. She's a simpleton who cares too much. She lets her emotions take over her head and don't even get me started on her school reports. The girl didn't even pass her GCSEs.

"There's not just one type of 'clever', Sherlock." Molly said as she got to her feet. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and shook her head ever so slightly. "And just because someone's not as _smart _as you are doesn't mean they're any less of a person." And with that she left, leaving Sherlock in silence. He narrowed his eyes and sunk down in his seat.

* * *

**_A/N: and thank you for reading once more. Please review. Tell me what you'd like to see in this story! I only live in this online world to please you. _**

**_Also, please for the love of God someone review and tell me they understand my username and the title of this song._**

**_(I need more online friends) _**


	5. Chapter 5

Life went back to normal after that. Sherlock didn't mention Moriarty so neither did Alex. The newspapers mentioned it. They were outraged. How _dare _he be allowed to walk free. What did this say about Britain? Even the Prime Minister was commenting on it. Alex herself tried to stay away from it all. She stopped reading newspapers. She stopped glancing at them on her way to college. Of course, if she didn't stop then maybe the find out the next big thing Sherlock-related to hit the news, and not hear it second hand from some emotionally-unstable teenager in college.

"So... erm... you see... I think my... erm... my sister is really... erm... what I'm trying to say is..." The painfully awkward and very emotional woman babbled. John nodded his head, trying to look sympathetic, while Sherlock just rolled his eyes and sank lower in his seat. Was there really no good cases left? Where was the excitement? The dead bodies? The kidnappings?

The door downstairs flew open with a bang seconds before footsteps began to thud up the stairs, shaking the whole flat. For a second, Sherlock hoped it was another case but he could tell just by listening that it was Alexandra. He could also tell that she wasn't in a very good mood.

The door to the flat was kicked open, slamming against the wall with another loud bang. Alexandra was in tears. Sherlock frowned. He hadn't seen her cry this hard since she was a child. She was hysterical. He got to his feet before hesitating. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know why she was crying.

"Alex?" John gasped as he also got to his feet. He turned to the client and smiled apologetically. "We're going to have to cut this short." He said as he ushered her up and out of the room, past Alexandra who was still in the doorway sobbing. "We'll call you."

"Oh..." The woman whispered in confusion. "Oh... OK." She was gone and the attention was turned back to Alexandra. John took her by the shoulder and pulled her deeper into the room, towards the sofa.

"What happened?" John asked. "Are you hurt? Alex, breathe. Try to breathe." He pushed her down onto the sofa, sitting next to her. Sherlock was soon in front of them, crouching in front of his daughter and trying to look her in the eyes. He scanned her face desperately. There had to be someway to make her stop crying. Some sort of off button somewhere. For someone who knew an awful lot about an awful lot of things, he was absolutely useless when it came to teenage girls emotions.

"Is it a boy?" Sherlock asked. the crying stopped for a second as Alex stared at her father in disbelief.

"No!" She snapped. "I'll never cry over a boy." John smiled slightly and gave her back a rub. "Its not a boy... it's... it's mum."

"What?" Sherlock asked blankly. Alex grabbed her bag from her shoulder and threw it to the floor, leaning down she opened it up, pulling out something and throwing it at Sherlock. A newspaper

"I can't believe she would do this." Alex said before dissolving into sobs again. "She hasn't seen me in ten years and then she goes and does this!" Sherlock straightened out the newspaper that his daughter had threw at him. "Some girl in college had it. They all know."

The cover of the newspaper read, in big black letters, _**SHERLOCKS STOLEN SECRET**_ next to a two photographs. One of Alexandra and Sherlock leaving the court after the Moriarty trial and another of a terribly skinny woman looking miserable and holding a framed photograph of a young child.

John took the newspaper from Sherlock and began to read.

'_Lori Evans, originally from Merseyside, admits to having a brief relationship with Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective, resulting in the birth of a Alexandra Holmes. The girl, who is usually seen in the presence of her father, has multiple times denied being any relation to the Reichenbach hero. Exclusively in this article, Lori tells us her heartbreak when Sherlock Holmes, who had not been bothered with the child for six years prior, came and snatched the young girl from her own mother.'_

John stopped reading. He threw the newspaper onto the table in disgust. Alex was now hunched over, elbows on her knees and head hung as she cried. Sherlock was no longer crouching at her feet but was now pacing the room. John draped an arm over the girl, pulling her in for a hug.

"She said you hit me, dad." Alex said, shakily. "She said you kidnapped me when I was six. She was the one who let her boyfriends smack me around and she was the one who left me with you when I was six. Why would she do this?"

"Money." Sherlock answered instantly.

"I _hate her_." Alex growled. "She never wanted anything to do with me before now. She's so selfish."

"Alexandra, you also sold a story to newspaper for money." Sherlock pointed out. Alex smiled slightly and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She let herself remember the phone call to the newspaper to tell them that 'an anonymous source' had solved the Salish Sea Human Foot Discoveries. She smirked. That was a good day.

"That didn't hurt anyone." She replied softly. "If anything, it was helping people. Plus, I'm going to spend the money on good things." She paused, thinking for a second or so. "Like gig tickets and band t-shirts." She sniffed and got to her feet. She wiped at her face once more and cleared her throat. "Mother's probably going to spend it on her new family." Her bottom lip stuck out as her eyes clouded with tears again. She let herself fall back down onto the sofa next to John before she could burst into tears again. "Her new kids who are so much better than I am. I bet she'll never abandon them."

"Sherlock, make yourself useful." John said as he looked up at the man. "Make tea." Sherlock frowned for a second, not really liking to be told what to do, but he soon left for the kitchen when he saw the look in John's eyes. The look that said, if you don't do as I say, I will hurt you.

"Sherlock." Mrs Hudson's voice said, coming from the door that had been left open by the previous client. "Your brothers here."

"Great!" Sherlock said sarcastically, pulling out another cup for the cabinet. Alex let out a loud groan and let her forehead fall against her knee. Mycroft stepped into the room, nodding in acknowledgment to John with a forced smile. Always a pleasure, John thought.

"Oh, Alexandra." Mrs Hudson cooed when her eyes landed on Alex who was now trying her best not to cry. "What's all this fuss?"

"The woman who pushed me out of her womb has come back to haunt me." Alex told her, her voice cracking halfway through her sentence.

"Now, Alexandra, you're overreacting. There's no need to be sobbing hysterically." Mycroft said calmly. He had clearly read the morning newspapers.

"Overreacting?" Alex yelped. Looking up quickly. "Are you serious? I'm sixteen. She could go to court and try to get custody of me. No offence but you _know _this family. If social services come in here they'll get one look at the decapitated foot in the microwave and drag me out of here."

"You are in _my _care." Mycroft pointed out smoothly. Alex pulled her knees up to her chin, her feet resting on the sofa. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her jeans. Mycroft smiled slyly. "I wouldn't worry about anyway. I know the right people. With my word, files can be brought up and other files..." He looked over at Sherlock who was now leaving the kitchen with a tray of mugs and a tea pot. "... can be hidden." He then looked back at Alex and his face grew ever so softer. "On my command no lawyer in England with work with her."

"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft." Alex said quietly. The words sounded strange coming from her mouth. Sherlock handed her a cup of tea and then sat himself down in his seat. She smiled and took a sip, watching her father as he glared up at Mycroft.

"Go on then." He said, not looking away from his brother.

"Go on with what?" Mycroft sighed.

"Tell me how it's my fault and how stupid I am." Sherlock shot back.

"_You _were the one who decided to have a fling in a drug den while mother and father were on holiday in Tuscany." Mycroft replied smoothly. His eyes rolled at the last word.

"It wasn't in a drug den." Sherlock spat back. "And it wasn't a fling."

"Caring is what causes problems like this, Sherlock." Mycroft replied.

"I'd prefer you to call my whole existence a problem when I'm not around to hear it." Alex snapped. "You see this..." She waved a finger around, pointing at the whole room. "This is why I worry about being taken away by the social services. You say I'm a mistake who was conceived in a drug den."

"It's wasn't a den." Sherlock sighed. "Admittedly, it wasn't anywhere respectable but it wasn't a drug den."

"Father!" Alex yelped. "Nobody needs to know." John, who had drifted out of the conversation a while ago and started to read the newspaper, looked up and raised a hand.

"It _does say_ in the article that it _was_ drug den." He said. Alex's eyes widened. She snatched the newspaper away from John and read it herself. Disgust grew across her face as the article got into far too much detail. She tried not to gag.

"I don't care if she's my own mother. I will actually _murder her_." She whispered to nobody in particular.

/

Sherlock didn't sleep. He didn't need to, not when he had so much to think about. Moriarty, cases, all that nonsense with the newspapers, more cases. So instead he stayed awake in the living room. The room lit only by a lamp and the street lights outside. He had decided to sort out his mind palace. It needed cleaning and decluttering. There had been no good cases for a good while so his mind had become clouded with stupid facts about cheating husbands and stolen dresses.

"Dad..." Alex's voice said, drawing out the word. Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes. He knew that voice. It was the voice she used when she wanted to know something. She used it a lot as a child when she came to visit and wanted to know what he had gotten her for her birthday or Christmas.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his voice sounding harsher than he had expected. He watched her as she came and sat down on John's seat. He sighed to himself when he saw she had the newspaper in her hands. "Late night reading?" He asked.

"Is it true that you tried to force mum to get an abortion?" She asked quietly. Sherlock frowned, his tilted his head to the side slightly as he tried to think up a reply. He knew that pausing too long had already given her an answer.

"The way that sentence is structured implies something completely different to the reality." He replied slowly. Alex stared back at him, somewhat sadly. "I didn't try to force her. I didn't pressure her into having an abortion. I simply offered it up as an alternative."

"Did you want her to?" Alex asked quickly. Her voice was far too sharp and accusing.

"I was young, Alexandra." Sherlock snapped. Alex winced slightly. He only ever used her full name was he was serious or she was in trouble. "I didn't _want _a child. I didn't think I could handle a child."

"You _never_ wanted a child." Alex replied. "In the article mum said that she always wanted a..."

"Most of that article is nothing but lies, Alexandra." Sherlock said seriously, cutting her off. "She only kept you because she thought if she did that I would stay with her."

"Wow." Alex whispered in shock. "Wow. I can't believe you just said that."

"Would you rather I lie to you?" Sherlock asked. Alex shook her head. Sherlock rolled his eyes, seeing that she was upset. He stuck his arm out, his hand flat out. "Give it here."

"Dad..." She groaned.

"You're not reading it anymore." He said. Alex reluctantly got to to her feet and shuffled across the room, dropping the newspaper onto her fathers lap.

"I wanted to do the crosswords." She grumbled.

"Go to bed."

"Yes daddy." She mumbled. "I love you."

"I know." He said. She smirked and then leant forward and did something she hadn't done since she was probably about seven. She kissed him on the cheek. It shocked them both.

"Sorry." She instantly said. "I just..."

"No." Sherlock interrupted. "Don't be sorry. I..."

"That's what's daughters do... I think... and..."

"Oh yeah... yeah... Thank you?"

"I'm going to go to bed now."

"Yeah. Good girl."

"Thanks."

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Thank you all for the lovely reviews. This chapter was mainly character building, filler stuff but I promise it goes alllll up hill from here _

_Thank for the lovely reviews. I try to reply to each one. _

_Thank you for all the favourites and alerts. _

_Please review!_


	6. Chapter 6

It was John who suggested that Alex tag along for the case of the missing children at St Aldates School. It was Alex _and _Sherlock who declined. Sherlock didn't want her tagging along. He kept mumbling something about 'Anderson' who, Alex decided, must be somebody like Donovan. She had come to their flat with Lestrade, who actually seemed quite nice, to explain the case to Sherlock.

Alex was still in her pyjamas when they arrived, drifting in and out of sleep on the sofa. She couldn't sleep because, at some ridiculous hour in the morning, Sherlock had decided to practice playing the violin. He had stopped by the time Lestrade and Donovan arrived. They had read the newspaper, of course. This was the first time she had ever met any of Sherlock's 'friends and colleagues' apart from John. She hadn't expected all of them to be this surprised that she was alive. She got the impression that all of the people Sherlock knew expected him to be a virgin. Even though she was living proof that he wasn't, Alex often liked to trick herself into believing this as as well.

She decided not to tag along with her father, John, Lestrade and Sally for a few reasons. The first being that she'd much rather crawl back into bed and savour the silence of the flat. The idea of a lengthy sleep with no chance of her father waking her up with his violin or some strange experiment with a power drill, made her almost moan in pleasure. Another reason was Donovan. She was far too sarcastic for Alex's liking. She was rather cruel to her father as well and Alex could never stand it when people were horrible to her father. People were always making horrid comments about her father in school and it usually resulted in Alex locking herself in a toilet cubicle and crying. She knew her father was flawed in so many ways and wasn't the kindest of people, but only she could offend him.

There was also the fact that ever since the newspaper article, she felt as if everybody was watching her and everybody wanted to see her with her father. She had hardly left the flat since the article had been published, even when she did it was hardly ever with her father and on the rare occasions that she left the flat with Sherlock, she always stayed closer to John than him.

She felt like a circus act even though, deep down, she knew that not everyone knew who her father was and not everyone was a reporter gagging to get a photograph of her trying to follow in her fathers footsteps. The photograph of him and her on the front of the newspaper, coming out of the court, was big enough for people to think that sherlock was 'training her'. Maybe it was her natural sense of teenage rebellion that made her shudder at the thought of people think she was trying to follow in her father's footsteps. Whatever it was, she always wanted to tell people that no, she wasn't about to become a 'consulting detective'.

Finally, the last reason for really not wanting to join her father on the case is that it was about _children._ Kidnapped children. Cases like that ripped her heart apart. Small innocent children who had been kidnapped. She didn't really want to be around when they found out what happened to the poor things because she knew it couldn't be good. She didn't want to embarrass her father by breaking down in the middle of a crime scene at the first mention of murder or molestation.

Anyway, those were the completely valid reasons for staying at home. It was only at about lunch time that Alex saw the flaws in her plan.

She had gotten up and gotten dressed a while ago. She found that she was so awake now that she couldn't get back to sleep no matter how tired she was. So instead she decided that she'd probably just waste the start of her day on the internet. It seemed like an amazing idea up until she got hungry.

"Dad, where are you?" Alex asked down the phone.

"On the way to St Barts." Sherlock replied casually.

"Why?! Is John OK?!" Alex panicked.

"Yes and I'm fine too." Sherlock replied almost sarcasitcally. "We need to run some tests in the morgue."

"Theres no food left in the flat." Alex said quickly, getting straight to the point.

"Of course there is."

"No theres not, Dad. There's no _real _food. Organic butternut squash is not a _real _food. I don't even know what you're supposed to do with it? Do you eat it raw? Are you supposed to boil it first?" Alex babbled. "And don't even get me started on the ready meals? Who on earth decided to make a ready meal out of liver and onion? That sounds horrible. There's no real food. I need money for a take-away."

"You have money." Sherlock shot back.

"No I don't."

"Where did all the money from selling the answers to unsolved mysteries to the newspapers go?"

"In the bank. I'm waiting for Mumford and Sons to tour again." Sherlock sighed down the phone, making Alex smirk to herself. "I'll come to St Barts. I think I have a bit of money left on my oyster card." And with that she hung up before Sherlock could object or realise that she was basically only coming to the hospital to 'borrow' some money from him.

/

"Woah, here, let me help." A voice said as Molly found herself staggering under the weight of the files and books she had carried into the room for Sherlock. A second later and she felt the weight lift slightly. She peered over the remaining tower of books to see Alex smiling back at her. The pair hadn't seen each other since the whole 'boy in the bedroom' incident. Alex shot Molly an awkward smile, as if to tell her that she really would rather not talk about that moment ever again. Molly smiled back before moving off towards the table with Alex following.

"Oil, John." Sherlock announced. "The oil on the kidnappers footprint. It will lead us to Moriarty." Alex dropped the books onto the counter. She felt herself shiver slightly. The thought of Moriarty still creeped her out. Especially since the comment of needing 'a pet' and 'liking her'. The fact that he knew she existed still played on her mind at the strangest time.

"Moriarty?" She asked nobody in particular. "_He _kidnapped those children?"

"He had something to do with it." John answered before Sherlock launched into telling nobody in particular about how the sole of a shoe was like a passport. Molly began doing more work for Sherlock and John soon got back to helping as well. Alex stood near the counter like a spare part. After a second or so she decided it would probably be best if she pretended she was busy with something. She rooted around in her bag for a second or two before pulling out her reading book.

/

"Sherlock?" John said, finally snapping Alex away from her book. She looked up. It had been a while since she last looked at the real world. She wondered where on earth Molly was. She could have sworn she was in the room a second ago. "The envelope that was in her trunk." John continued. "There's another one." Alex watched on quietly. She knew that she was falling behind with the details for this case but she feared that if she asked, her father would just become annoyed. So instead she listened, hoping that she could figure out the main points of the case.

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking up as John walked towards him.

"On our doorstep. Found it today." He said, taking an envelope out of his jacket pocket before walking towards Sherlock and handing it to him. "Look at that. Same seal." Sherlock reached into the envelope and took something out. Alex, now overcome by curiosity, got to her feet. She placed her book down on the table before walking around to stand near her father.

"Breadcrumbs." Sherlock stated as Alex peered over his shoulder to look at, what just seemed like brown dust, in his hand.

"Uh-huh." John agreed. "It was there when I got back."

"A little trace of breadcrumbs, hardback copies of fairy tales." Sherlock noted.

"Hansel and Gretel." Alex suddenly said, smiling somewhat nostalgically. "The two children were led into the forest by their wicked father. They left a trail bread crumbs so they could find their way back but the birds ate them and then the children were eaten by a woman in a gingerbread house." She paused before looking her father in the eye. "You used to read that story to me when I was little. When you weren't high on God knows what. Well, you read it to me when nana or Mycroft forced you to."

Sherlock looked back at Alex, not knowing what to say. He didn't even remember that. He had a vague memory of his mother yelling, telling him to at least try to spend some time with his own daughter who had turned up on his doorstep only a few days before. He remembered going into a room where she sat, small and thin, shaking with what must have been fear. He remembered a book but not a story. He didn't know Alex still remembered. He never knew she clung onto that memory.

"What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?" John wondered, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts.

"The sort that likes to boast." He answered, finally looking away from Alex. "The sort that think its all a game. He sat in our flat and said these exact words to me, _all fairytales need a good old fashioned villain._"

"Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain." Alex mumbled. "He said _'every' _ not '_all_'." Sherlock didn't hear her or if he did, he completely ignored her and went back to his microscope.

"The fifth substance. It's part of the tale." Sherlock said before looking up again. "The witch's house."

"What?" Alex asked with a small sigh.

"The glycerol molecule." Sherlock answered. Alex shrugged, looking up at John for a translation.

"I failed every single science GCSE at school." She grumbled, crossing her arms across her chest.

"PGPR!" Sherlock cried, causing Alex to jump.

"What's that?" John asked.

"It's used in making chocolate." He answered as he leapt to his feet. He hurried out of the room, leaving John and Alex to follow. She grabbed her bag, stuffing the book back inside of it. She felt bad for not being able to tell Molly they were going. The idea of Molly returning to an empty room made Alex's insides ache. That woman put up with so much of Sherlock's crap and got hardly anything in return.

/

Alex had never been inside Scotland Yard before. She had heard about it and seen it on the news a lot. Mainly, she had seen the spinning sign outside. Whenever she saw that she got annoyed. _New _Scotland Yard. It wasn't even in Scotland. It was no where near Scotland. It was in London.

Of course, she didn't mention this to Sherlock or John as she followed them into the building. Her father already thought of her as an idiot. She didn't need to fuel that thought by asking stupid questions like '_why isn't it London Yard?_' or '_what's so new about it?'_. So instead she stayed quiet, nodding every few seconds to make herself look intelligent and at home. To be fair, she didn't even know why she was there. She guessed that both Sherlock and John had forgotten she was tagging along.

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked.

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect." Sherlock declared. He handed Lestrade a piece of paper.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation." He read. "What the hell is this? Chocolate?"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory." Sherlock said, seriously.

"We need to narrow that down." Lestrade pointed out. "A sweet factory with asphalt?" Alex bit her lip, suddenly feeling very out of place and somewhat embarrassed. She stared down at her feet while her father continued getting faster and faster. She wished she could be as smart as her father.

She wished she could hold so much information in her head but she just couldn't. She didn't take after her father and her uncle. During high school she would lie awake after lights out, being tormented by the horrible thought that maybe she just took after her mother. Not able to commit to anything or anyone, selfish and never able to stay in one place for more than a month. Then again, would it be any better to take after her father? To not love anyone, to only care about being intelligent, to solve mysteries instead of taking drugs. A high functioning sociopath. Why couldn't she just be happy being Alexandra?

She caught a man looking at her. He didn't look very nice or very impressed with her presence. He reminded her a lot of Donovan. He rolled his eyes a lot at her father. She hated that. It didn't seem to bother her father but it bothered her. She bit her lip to stop herself snapping at the man. Telling him he was just jealous. Maybe that was Anderson.

She was snapped out of her thought by her father hurrying out of the room, John eager to keep up. She staggered after them. She had never been a gifted athlete. She couldn't run to save her life. She climbed the stairs in college a few times and would always end up out of breath. Her father was slim and graceful. She, on the other hand, was awkward and didn't glide but instead seemed to waddle everywhere with a clunk, clunk, clunk.

/

She ended up catching a taxi back to the flat.

She didn't want to go into the disused factory. She didn't want to help look for the children. She wasn't heartless. She wanted them to be found. She prayed for them to be found and she didn't even know if she was religious. She was just scared. She didn't want to see the body of a child. The thought made a lump rise in her throat. She didn't feed off of the adrenaline like her father did. It made her feel sick. She wanted it to be over as soon as possible. She wanted everything to be OK and she wanted to be home with a cup of tea.

John also made it clear that she wasn't actually supposed to be there. He was the one who handed her the money for the taxi and told her she wasn't allowed to invite any boys back while they were away. She spent the taxi ride back biting at the skin around her nails and silently hoping that everything turned out OK. Her stomach turned so much she had to close her eyes and focus on her breathing to calm herself down. How did her dad do this? How did he _enjoy _this?

Her father said she cared too much and that was probably true. She had never met the children but she still found herself casting glances towards the her phone as she waited for John to call her with any updates. She spent her time on her laptop, trying to do something, anything, to distract her from the case her father was currently on. She tried to do her college work a few times but it just reminded her too much of the missing children so she soon stopped. The television blurred mindless nonsense for background noise and the sound of Mrs Hudson pottering around downstairs was very comforting.

Her phone buzzed to life and she almost fell off of the sofa in an attempt to grab it. "Hello?" She gasped, knowing it would be John on the end of the line. "How are they? What's happened? Are they alive? Are they OK?"

"They've both been found." John said, his voice calm and level. "Alive!" He added as an after thought. He heard Alex let out a sigh of relief. "They've been poisoned. The boy is in intensive care and the little girl is traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminded her of the kidnapper. When he went into the room to ask her a few questions and she began to scream the whole building down."

"Jesus..." Alex hissed, shaking her head. "I hope they're OK."

"Don't we all?" John sighed. "Are _you _OK? We'll be on our way back soon."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Alex dismissed.

"No boys?" John teased.

"If you bring that up, one more time..." Alex growled, trailing off. She heard John laugh from the other side of the phone, throwing in a few apologies and promises to never do it again. She couldn't help but smile to herself as she said goodbye, rolling her eyes as she hung up.

/

**A/N:** _OOh, Ahh, new chapter. New cover image as well. I made that. That's my photo. Wow oooh ahhhh. Review please. _

_Every reviewer gets their own cup of tea and small pot of jam with a tiny Sherlock Holmes stuck inside. _


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock didn't tell Alexandra about the video of Moriarty in the cab or the fact that Moriarty was the cab driver. He knew she'd make a big deal out of it. She'd fuss and yell and demand he phoned the police. He instead let John tell her all about the assassin who pushed him out of the way of the car. He watched as his daughter's face went from an emotion of mild shock and relief to, what looked like, terror as John told her that the man was shot three times in the chest when he shook Sherlock's hands. She didn't get it at first. Of course she didn't. She was rather dense. John had to practically spell it out for her.

"Assassins?!" She yelped. She leant over the back of Sherlock's seat, watching him as he sat at the table on his laptop. "I didn't even know that was a _real thing._"

"Four of them." Sherlock added. "Living right on our doorstep." Alex bit her lip. He had never seen his daughter so worried before. For a breif second he wondered what on earth got her so worried... but then he remembered about the whole 'assassin thing'. "They didn't come here to kill me." Sherlock added, watching her face relax only a small bit. "Or any of us. They have to keep me alive. I've got something that they want but if one of them approaches me..."

"The others kill them before they can get it." John finished. Alex frowned. Such a dense little girl, Sherlock thought. Alex watched him as he typed and clicked rapidly on his laptop. She rested her chin on the back of the seat, watching the two men and waiting for one of them to speak once more.

"All of their attention is focused on me." Sherlock announced. "There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"Surveillance." Alex repeated, trying to make the word settle into her mind. She nodded her head in shock and soon find herself wondering why she actually wanted to come and live with her father. "What on earth could you have that's so important?" Sherlock didn't answer. He gazed into the distance for a moment or so before running his finger along the table top. He looked at his fingertip. Alex watched him, wondering why he was checking the cleanliness of the table.

"We need to ask about the dusting." He stated.

"We wouldn't need to if you learnt how to clean the flat yourself." Alex pointed out. Sherlock got to his feet, casting a glare at his daughter.

"You're being a hypocrite." He stated seconds before he shouted down for Mrs Hudson. She didn't reply. Alex couldn't blame her. It was late. She might be in bed or at least already settled down in her room. Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh, much like a moody teenager, and stomped out of the room.

"Don't wake up Mrs Hudson." John sighed as he followed him out. "Sherlock!"

A few minutes later, Mrs Hudson was dragged into the room wearing only his nightdress and dressing gown. She was rather confused as to why she had been forced to come up to the flat. "Precis details." Sherlock continued from a conversation that Alex had not heard. "In the last week, what's been cleaned?" Alex let her eyes follow him as he walked around the room quickly, seemingly looking for something.

"Well Tuesday I did your lino..." Mrs Hudson started, only to be cut off by Sherlock.

"No, in here. this room. this is where we'll find it. Any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust." He babbled from where he was now near the kitchen. He swiped the surface of the last piece of furniture he had come across, waving the finger in the air. "Dust is eloquent."

"What are you on about?" Alex asked. He didn't answer but instead began climbing on the furniture. He seemed to be scaling the bookshelf when he next spoke.

"Cameras." He stated simply. Alex felt her eye widened. She hoped for a second or so that she had heard him wrong. "We're being watched."

"What? Cameras?" Mrs Hudson gasped. "Here? I'm in my nightie!" The doorbell rang causing Mrs Hudson to leave the room. Sherlock poked his fingers through the skull's eye sockets and Alex curled up more into herself. She was a teenage girl. She had done things in this house that she was die if anybody else saw let alone recorded on camera.

"Please tell me you're joking." Alex begged, dodging out of the way just in time for her father to climb up on the seat she was sitting at.

"Afraid not." He mumbled, still searching through every little bit of the house. He got to the bookshelf, almost climbing up it. Alex stood up, she didn't really want to have her father fall on top of her. He was far too tall and far too bony, being crushed by him would hurt. So she took a few steps back and watched him poke around at the books until she saw one of the books wobble loosely.

"Oh God." She whispered upon seeing her father reach up for the tiny camera.

"No, inspector." Sherlock said, focusing on the camera. Alex spun around to see none other than Greg Lestrade standing next to John.

"What?" He asked as Sherlock stepped down with the camera in between his thumb and forefinger.

"The answer's no." Sherlock replied calmly.

"But you haven't heard the question!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"You want to me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking." Sherlock said as he walked closer. Alex shifted towards him ever so slightly. She felt her stomach drop as she realised this was the start of something very bad.

"Why?" She asked, his hand reaching out and brushing against his for a split second. Lestrade breathed in.

"Sherlock.." He started.

"The scream?" Sherlock interrupted. Lestrade took in another breath and let it out with his next answer.

"Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping. Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head, that little nagging sensation. You're gonna have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home..." He reached forward, tapping Lestrade's forehead ever so briefly. "There."

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock turned away, sitting down at the laptop he began to type. Alex looked up at John but his eyes were planted on Sherlock.

"One photograph, that's his next move." Sherlock said, not answering Lestrade's question at all. "Moriarty's game, first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He looked up, the camera in his hand. "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play." He looked away once more. "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Lestrade sighed, shared a look with John and then turned to leave. Alex watched him go, wondering if it was really that easy to avoid being taken away by the police. She turned back to her father, hoping that this was all a joke. The idea of people thinking that her father was responsible for something so horrible made her stomach churn and her mind swim. She stayed froze to the spot as John walked over to the window, peeking out of the curtain ever so slightly.

"They'll be deciding." Sherlock stated.

"Deciding what?" John asked.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"You can't be arrested." Alex heard herself blurt out. She wrung her hands together nervously, shaking her head. "This isn't happening."

"Standard procedure." Sherlock replied calmly.

"Should have gone with them. People'll think..."

"I don't care what people think." Sherlock answered.

"You'd care..." John started, his voice hard and somewhat angry. "If they thought you were stupid or wrong."

"Or that you had made a mistake." Alex added, feeling herself grow from panicked to annoyed. He should have just gone with Lestrade calmly. Surely people would just think he was going to help with another case. An arrest meant handcuffs and _'you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you will later rely on in court'_. People would do what people did when someone was arrested. They'd look out of their curtains, make up rumours, put a status about it on Facebook or gossip about it over a cup of tea.

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong." Sherlock replied. "They would be making the mistake." John turned to Sherlock angrily.

"Sherlock, I don't want the world believing your..." He trailed off, leaving the room in silence.

"That I am what?" Sherlock prompted, meeting John's eyes with his.

"A fraud." He replied, somewhat quieter. Alex wanted to add but didn't feel it appropriate. She listed it in her head. A fraud, a criminal, a monster, an embarrassment, a shame to the country, a bad father.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back in the seat, far too calm for a man about to be arrested. "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No." John shot back before Sherlock could even finish his answer.

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No I'm not."

"Moriarty is playing with your mind. Alexandra, as well." He slammed his fist down onto the table, making Alex jump. His voice raised until he was yelling. "Can't you see what's going on?"

"No." John replied calmly. "I know you're for real."

"Me too." Alex said, in a hope it would help the matters.

"A hundred percent?" Sherlock asked. John turned back towards him.

"Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time." He replied. Alex giggled despite the situation. No matter how old she was she would still always laugh at the word dick. Sherlock's lips twitched with the beginning of a smile as he looked down at his laptop.

"And I for one have known you my entire life." Alex said, feeling somewhat calmer as she let herself drop down into John's seat. "I highly doubt you could fake this for sixteen years." She paused and waited until her father met her eye. "If you say that you're not a fraud then I believe you, a hundred percent. When I was younger you told me that you were best friends with the pirate Grace O'Malley and I believed you. I was picked on by all the other children at school because they said my daddy couldn't possibly know pirates but I insisted that you did. Anyway, my point is that I always believe you, whatever you say. I'm not about to stop now." Sherlock looked up at her, the briefest smile on his face. She flashed one back but it wasn't as real as she'd like it to be. "I don't really want to see you being arrested so I'm going to go and wait with Mrs Hudson until this all blows over."

"Take your phone." John reminded her before she got to her feet to leave, taking a slight detour to plant a kiss on her father's forehead. He ruffled her hair in return.

"They'll let you go." She said, matter-of-factly. "They have to. When they realise that you didn't do it, they'll have to let you go." She briefly wondered if that came across as strongly as she wanted it to. She highly doubted it. She reckoned it sounded more like a question. Her father just nodded before turning back to his laptop. She shot a look a John. He smiled reassuringly but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

/

Alex couldn't drink the tea that Mrs Hudson made. She was too nervous. How could she not be? Her father and John had ran away from the police. They were still in their handcuffs and they had run away. Mrs Hudson had told her, trying to make it sound as light as possible. She was glad none of the police officers outside came in to tell her because as soon as she heard the news she let out a loud laugh. At first it was hilarious but then it was worrying. Her stomach flipped and her hands shook. She needed to know he was OK. She needed to know that he and John were safe.

She was contemplating going up the stairs and going to bed when the phone rang, loud and shrill. She jumped, grabbing it in her shaking hands she pressed the 'answer' button without even looking at the caller ID. "Hello?" She asked, her voice sounding far more tired than intended.

"Alexandra, I need you to do something for me." Her fathers voice demanded immediately.

"Dad? Are you OK? Is John OK? Why was John arrested? What's going on?" Alex babbled, her voice raising louder and louder.

"Be quiet." Her father scolded. "I'm going to message you an address. Go upstairs, there's money under the skull on the fireplace, take it and hire a cab to the address. The door will be open, just walk in. Don't tell anyone where you're going. Not Mrs Hudson, not Lestrade, no one. Bring one of your hairpins. If you forget the hairpin then your trip will be useless and you'll be grounded until you're forty. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Alexandra replied ever so quietly.

"Be quick." Her father said seconds before the line went dead. Alex pulled her phone away from her ear, shoving it into her pocket. She got to her feet and started to leave the room only to be interrupted by Mrs Hudson.

"Alexandra, sweetheart, where are you going?" She asked softly.

"Oh, my friend just rang up. She's just broke up with her boyfriend and she's a mess so I thought I'd go over there to cheer her up. You know, take my mind off of all the trouble down here." The lies rolled off of Alex's tongue so flawlessly. She felt awful for lying to Mrs Hudson but her father told her not to tell. "I'm going to grab some money for the cab. I'll be back soon enough."

"OK, darling, be careful." Mrs Hudson replied. "Do you have your phone on you." Alex nodded with a smile and a smack to the pocket her phone lay in.

"I won't get arrested." She said with a small smirk. "I'll see you later." Mrs Hudson let out a small laugh.

"See you later." With that Alex left the room, running up the stairs to her flat. Be quick, her father had said. So she ran and called the cab as she was pulling her shoes and coat on. She in such a rush to get out that she almost forget the money, having to stumble back into the room and stuff the wad of cash into her pocket.

She pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head before she left the flat, avoiding the few police officers that were lurking outside. She could feel her heart pounding as she tried her best to look casual and walk really quickly at the same time. It wasn't until she was around the corner that she let out a long breath. It didn't take her long to hail a cab, jump in and read out the address from the text on her phone.

/

She hovered outside of the door for a second or so, wondering if she should really go in. Her father had told her to but wasn't that trespassing. The law told her not to do that. Then again, she didn't really want to get grounded so she gave the door a slight push. She was surprised to find that the door swung open leading into a dark room.

"Hello?" She whispered.

"Close the door over and sit down." Sherlock's voice demanded immediately.

"Sit down where?" Alex whispered urgently. She heard her father sigh.

"Just sit down and be quiet." He said. She took a few hesitant steps forward in the dark, arms spread out in front of her in case she bumped into something. About five or six steps in she let herself plonk down onto the floor. She brought her legs up to her chest. She had never really been one to be scared of the dark. In the boarding school it was strictly lights out. She never had a chance to be scared. She was more freaked out about what could be in the dark. She didn't even know whose flat she was in. What if there was spiders? She shifted nervously, the image of hundred of spiders crawling up her making her insides tremble. She closed her eyes. For some reason it calmed her ever so slightly.

About a minute or so later the light flickered on. Alex opened her eyes to see the news reporter from Moriarty's trial scanning the room in shock. Her eyes landed on Sherlock as Alexandra tried to desperately remember her name.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asked without even looking up at her.

"You're the reporter!" Alex cried as she got to her feet. "The woman who harassed me in the bathroom. The woman who looks an awful lot like Jen from the IT Crowd. Why am I at your house?"

"I would like to know the same thing." The woman, Kitty her name was, replied as she closed the door. Sherlock got to his feet. Alex only then realised that he was handcuffed to John who was yanked up with him.

"Alex, hairpin." He said quickly. Alex reached into her pocket and pulled out the hairpin before stumbling over to her father who took it from her hands with a breif "Thank you." Kitty walked slowly over to the armchair, sinking down in and not letting her eyes leave Sherlock, John or Alex. "Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said to Kitty while she looked on at him in almost disgust. His wrist came free from the handcuff but stayed attached to John's. "The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo."

"I gave you your opportunity, both of you." Kitty replied calmly, nodding towards Alex. "I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down."

"Don't blame me." Alex snapped. "I don't even understand what's going on half of the time. I don't understand what's going on now."

"Story in the newspaper." John said to Alex as he tried to unlock the cuff. "Kiss and tell. Someone's spilled all the details on your father. Rich Brook, apparently."

"How utterly convenient." Sherlock said. "Who is Brook?" Kitty shook her head, not about to tell anyone anymore. "Oh, come on, Kitty. No one trusts a voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafes, those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbed into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?"

The sound of the main door shutting filled the room. Kitty jumped to her feet seconds before the flat's door opened. Alex, who was stood rather close to the door, stumbled back a few steps. "Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got the normal..." It took Alex a few seconds to realise who the man was. A messy, casual, unshaven Moriarty. She felt herself stumble backwards even more. Her father stared at him with wide eyes.

"Fuck." She heard herself whisper under her breath. Moriarty dropped the shopping bag, raised his hands in a defence and took steps backwards until he bumped into the wall behind him.

"You said that they wouldn't find me here." Moriarty said, his voice trembling. "You said that I'd be safe here."

"You are safe, Richard. I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of a witness."

"So that's your source?" John asked angrily, pointing at Moriarty.

"Rich Brook is Moriarty?" Alex heard herself say, laughing hollowly. "Are you kidding?"

"Of course, he's Rich Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been." Kitty answered, sounding far too happy. Alex looked up at John. He was furious, Sherlock was furious. She was a mixture of furious, confused and scared.

"What are you talking about?" John spat.

"Look him up. Rich Brook - an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."

"Bullshit!" Alex yelled. "Rich Brook, my ass. Are you really so gullible." She looked back up at John for support, terrified he was going to burst out laughing, turn to her and say that it was true. This was all a joke.

He wasn't laughing or smiling. He was glaring at Moriarty. "Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man." He said before he looked over at Alex. His eyes were full of hurt and fear. Alex felt her mouth hang open in shock. "And Alex... you know me. You used to call me Uncle Richard. I babysat you when your dad was in hospital."

"You're a liar." Alex screamed, tears of anger welling up in her eyes.

"Don't... don't h... don't hurt me."

"No,you're Moriarty." John screamed, jabbing his finger in the direction of him. "He's Moriarty. We've met remember? You were going to blow me up." Moriarty clasped his hands over his face for a moment before raising them again, seeming to almost be crying now.

"I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry."

"Sherlock, you'd better... explain... because I'm not getting this." John said, turning to Sherlock who had stayed silent throughout the whole thing.

"I'll be doing the explaining." Kitty replied. "In print."

"You can't print lies." Alex yelled rather naively. "Dad, tell her!" Kitty handed John a folder.

"It's all here." Kitty said smugly. "Conclusive proof." She walked over to Sherlock, looking him in the eye. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John asked.

"Invented all the crimes actually." Kitty added happily. "And to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"That's impossible." Alex yelled ."You're a dirty, lying bitch."

"I know that you're in on it to, Alexandra." Kitty almost, sang. Alex felt her heart sink. SHe was being pulled into it as well now? "Ask him, John. He's right here. Just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on trial!" John yelled.

"Yes and you paid him." Kitty said, pointing at Sherlock. "Paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role but I'll bet the money was good." She walked over to Moriarty, draping an arm around his shoulders. "But not so good he didn't want to sell his story."

"I am sorry." He said, looking at John. "I am. I am sorry. To you too, Alex. I know how much this must have... messed you up."

"So this is the story that you're going to publish?" John asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Moriarty's an actor?!"

"He knows I am. I have proof. Show him." Moriarty begged as Kitty began to walk across the small room. "Show him something."

"Yes, show me something." John snapped, watching her as she reached into her bag, pulling out yet another folder. Alex didn't let her eyes leave Moriarty. His hands clasped over his eyes but after a second or so he pulled them away and looked towards Sherlock. He smiled triumphantly, Sherlock returning it with a half-smile that held no humour. Moriarty then turned to smile at Alex. She didn't smile back. Her eyes widened, her heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat, her knees turned to jelly. She was terrified.

Then it stopped. Moriarty disappeared and Richard brook returned. "I'm on TV." He said, panicked. "I'm on kids' TV. I'm the storyteller."

"No you're not!" Alex snapped with a hollow laugh. John looked through the folder that he had been handed. "That's not even a real thing."

"I'm the storyteller. It's on DVD." Moriarty said, as if that made it official. Alex let out a yell of frustration.

"No!" She barked. "No it's not! I'm certain that it's not. Do you understand how much I have to watch these bullshit type kid shows in college? I've seen everything. There is no such fucking thing as the storyteller. They'd never let a maniac like you near any children."

"Just tell him." Moriarty said, his voice growing ever more panicked. "It's all coming out now. It's all over. Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!" He was hysterical. Sherlock bared his teeth and started walking towards him. "It's all over... NO!" He backed away from Sherlock, up the stairs towards the upper level of the flat. "Don't you touch me. Don't you lay a finger of me."

"Stop it!" Sherlock yelled, in a voice that chilled Alex to the bone. "Stop it now!" She felt herself turn back into a young child and Sherlock had been trusted to look after her for a few weeks. Memories came back that she tried to forget. Her father yelling when she interrupted him or wet the bed or worse, wet herself after falling asleep on his lap or even worse, throwing up all over him straight after he yelled at her for wetting herself because it seemed that she threw up whenever she was nervous. Her cheeks burnt bright red at the memory.

"Don't hurt me." Moriarty yelped, bolting up the rest of the stairs and out of sight. Alex's first instinct was to run after him. It seemed to be Sherlock's and John's first reaction too. She wasn't as fast as her father, she didn't have his long legs or gracefulness. She tripped on the stairs, her father and John ran past her as she lay sprawled on the staircase, groaning in the pain that pulsed from her shins.

Sherlock came back before she could even get to her feet. She groaned, getting up as she heard Kitty talking to her father.

"And you...repel... me." She spat moments before Sherlock left the flat. Alex panicked, not wanting to be left behind, and limped out of the room after him. She followed him out into the street, John behind her. She could feel the tears in her eyes and the acid in her stomach being thrown all over the place.

"Can he do that?" John asked as Alex watched her father pace. "Completely change his identity? Make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story. That's what you do when you sell a big lie. You wrap it up in the truth, make it more palatable."

"Your word against his." John offered.

"He's been sowing doubt into peoples minds for the last twenty-four hours." Sherlock said. "There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and thats to..." He trailed off, stopping dead in his tracks.

"To do what?" Alex asked, her voice quieter than expected.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Something I need to do." He said, more calmly than before.

"What?" Alex whispered.

"Can I help?" John asked.

"No. On my own." He said before briskly walking away. John sighed, looking down at the paper in his hands. Alex frowned and watched her father leave. She suddenly felt very alone and very scared. Anything could happen and now her father wasn't around. She could feel something rising up out of her stomach. She closed her eyes, feeling lightheaded, and bent over. Hands on her stomach she began to cough and cough until finally the contents of her stomach came up and out onto the road.

"Oh... Oh God." John panicked, walking towards her. He awkwardly patted her on the back as she continued to throw up. When she finally finished she let herself groan in embarrassment. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and felt herself wishing she had a bottle of water on standby. "Are you OK?"

"I haven't done that since I was little." She mumbled as she straightened up. She winced at the sight of her vomit all over the floor. "I'm glad dad wasn't here to see." John let out a sigh and rubbed her back gently.

"Come on." He whispered. "Lets get you home."

/

_**A/N: **Thank you for reading! I hope you like it so far. Please review and check out my new Sherlock fic. It's called 'Every Bit The Little Girl' _

_Thank yoooooooooooou. please reviewwwwwwwwwwwwww_


	8. Chapter 8

Alex got to the lab at St Bart's before Sherlock had even considered messaging John. Sherlock was rather shocked when she walked into the room. He had only just finished talking to Molly. If Alex had walked in a few minutes before she would have walked in on their discussion and everything, everything would be ruined.

"What are you doing here?" He asked as she dropped her bag onto a table. She shrugged, sitting opposite to him on the floor.

"Came to see you." She answered in a quiet, breathy voice. She pulled one knee up, mirroring her father. She shifted uncomfortably as the cupboard behind her dug it's handle into her back. Sherlock frowned and stared at her for a second or so.

"How did you know I was here?" He asked, trying to sound casual. He began bouncing the ball in his hand, letting it hit the floor and then the cupboard, narrowly avoiding his daughter's head.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am." She replied, trying her best not to flinch when the ball thudded next to her head. After a few more bounces she let her hand dart out, grabbing the ball in mid air. "What's going on, dad?" She asked before bouncing the ball off of the floor and sending it in his direction. He caught it, pausing for a second before bouncing it back.

"You said that you watched children s televisions shows in college." He said, not answering her question. She nodded, bouncing the ball back but keeping her lips tightly shut. "Why?"

"It's work." She answered quickly.

"You never told me what you study."

"You never asked." Alex replied with a small smirk. Sherlock looked up at her for a few seconds, that look that could make her blab about anything at all. It had always worked when she was a child. She took a deep breath and tossed her head back. "I knew you'd laugh and be rather unimpressed. Disappointed even. It's not exactly... following in yours or Uncle Mycroft's footsteps."

"What do you study?" Sherlock asked, sounding rather annoyed that he even had to ask her this in the first place.

"Childcare." She said quickly, feeling her cheeks burn a bright red. "I want to work with children. I want to be a social worker. I want to help people." Sherlock looked up at her, his face crinkling up in disgust. Alex sighed and rolled her eyes. Her voice gained a sharper, more annoyed tone to it. "I knew you'd be like that. That's why I never told you. The Holmes family, your motto is basically 'caring is not an advantage'. That's what you told me the first time I got a crush on a boy. God forbid Sherlock Holmes' daughter makes a living from caring about people." Sherlock stared at her. Alex suddenly felt quite bad for her outburst. She let a small smile wash over her face. "Plus I never really found the opportunity. During dinner you and John always talk about your cases. You found a body inside of Big Ben or there was an elephant in the flat. I would have looked really lame if I said 'well I learnt how to deal with nappy rash today'. It wouldn't have really compared." Sherlock offered a, clearly fake, smirk and continued to bounce the ball.

Alex didn't know if that fake smile was a good sign or a very bad one.

/

She went home an hour or so after John arrived. She was practically falling asleep. Her head would nod forward before she could catch herself. Her head would snap back up and she'd look around the room hoping that nobody had seen. John noticed eventually and told her to go back to the flat and get some sleep. She protested for only a minute or so before picking up her bag and heading out for a taxi.

She almost fell asleep on the journey back. She didn't even make it to her bedroom and instead collapsed down onto the sofa, falling straight asleep.

Later she would wonder if the worse day of her life began then, at sunrise, or Late. When she woke up to John shaking her frantically and yelling down her ear.

"You're OK. Oh thank God, you're OK."He cried when she opened her eyes in shock. Pushing herself up into a sitting position as fast as she could, she stared back at John. He looked both incredibly shocked and relieved.

"Yeah." She answered putting a hand to her chest in an attempt to start her heart again. She took a few deep breaths hoping and praying that she didn't just wet herself from the surprise. "Jesus Christ..." She mumbled. "You scared me."

"But..." John started, trailing off. He stared at her but Alex could tell that he was deep in thought. She watched him for a few seconds longer, becoming more and more worried. Then his frown lifted, his eyebrows raised and his mouth hung open.

"Are you OK?" Alex whispered. "Is dad OK?"

"Oh my God." He whispered in reply. His voice was full of horror. It made Alex's stomach drop. She jumped to her feet immediately, just in time to see John running out of the room. "Wait." She cried, stumbling after him.

"No, you're staying here." John shouted as he ran down the stairs, two steps at a time.

"No way." Alex replied with a hollow laugh.

"It might be dangerous." John pointed out.

"I don't care. He's my dad and he's in trouble." Alex snapped back, thundering down the stairs with no elegance at all. "Well, I'm guessing he's in trouble. I've never seen you so worried." John didn't reply. He let out a frustrated sigh as he opened the door and left the flat with Alex at his heel.

"Taxi!" He called as one rounded the corner, pulling over across the road. John chased it across the road, still shouting it as he went. Alex could feel her heart pounding but that probably wasn't the excitement. It was more that she was rather unfit. By the time she threw herself into the taxi, banging her knee on the floor as she went, she could feel her chest burning.

/

"Three bullets, three gunmen, four victims. There's no stopping them now." Moriarty said, strangely excited for someone who was being held over the edge of a tall building.

"Four." Sherlock replied, not a question but also not a firm statement. Moriarty grinned, his eyes shining. He had been waiting for this. Waiting to tell Sherlock all about his plan for Alexandra.

"I have special plans for your little girl, Sherlock." He whispered smoothly. "She won't get shot. Not straight away. My men wouldn't let a pretty young thing like that go to waste so easily. Some of my snipers haven't been around a young thing that beautiful in yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaars." He paused, letting it sink in Sherlock's mind for a second or so. "Before she dies they're going to do whatever they like to her."

Burning hot rage ran through Sherlock, mixing with a feeling of nausea at the thought of what they'd do to her. He yanked Moriarty backwards furiously. Moriarty's face was close to his as he stared off into the distance, down at the people walking below so casually. "Unless my people see you jump." Sherlock's face washed over with horror. Moriarty smiled and took a step backwards, his eyes not leaving Sherlock. "You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me but there's nothing to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die. Your daughter... well I don't really want to even imagine what those men will do to her... unless..."

"Unless I kill myself. Complete your story." Sherlock finished numbly. Moriarty grinned to himself and nodded.

"You have to admit that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace."

"Of course. That's the point of this." Moriarty confirmed. He looked over the side. People were walking around on the pavement below, two busses pulled up, people sat on a bench, all unaware of the drama that was unfolding above. "Oh, you've got an audience now." He announced. "Off you pop. Go on." Sherlock took a step up onto the ledge, his breath shaking as he looked down. "I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it." He looked up at the man.

"Will you give me... one moment please. One moment of privacy." He looked down at Moriarty who seemed rather disappointed.

"Of course." He replied, walking towards the middle of the rooftop. Before he even managed to get there he heard Sherlock let out a chuckle that soon turned into a smug laugh. His face dropped and he spun around. Rage flared up behind his dark eyes.

"What?" He growled. "What is it?" Sherlock didn't answer, he turned ever so slightly to smile at him. "What did I miss?"

"You're not going to do it." Sherlock said as he hopped down from the ledge. He walked toward Moriarty, circling the man like he was his prey. "So the killers can be called off then. There's a recall code or a word or a number." He smiled smugly. "I don't have to die, if I've got you." He sang the last bit as Moriarty's mouth fell open.

"Oh!" He let out a relieved laugh. "You think that you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to do."

"Yes but I'm not my brother." Sherlock hissed, stopping directly in front of Moriarty, faces close. To any onlooker the situation would look very different from the truth. "I am you. Prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you." Moriarty shook his head ever so slightly.

"Nah." He dismissed. "You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"Oh I may be on the side of the angels but don't think for one second that I am one."

"No... you're not." He smiled. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me." He let out a gasp of quiet laughter. "You're me. Thank you." He lifted his hand, almost reaching up to hug him but instead offers it for him to shake. "Sherlock Holmes. Thank you, bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out." He gaze lowered. There was something in his eye. Something that Sherlock didn't like. He blinked back tears.

What happened next happened so fast. He opened his mouth, pulled out a gun and then BANG. Sherlock gasped and stumbled backwards as Moriarty's body went limp and fell to the floor. That was his only way out... gone. Blood trickled out onto the floor. Sherlock panicked, noises escaped his mouth that sounded as if he was going to throw up or cry.

He stepped back up to the ledge.

/

John had calmed down a bit by the time they got to St Barts. He hadn't spoke but he had shot calming smiles in the direction of Alex. She sat curled up at one side of the cab, biting at the inside of her mouth until it bled, still nervous. It was obvious. As soon as the taxi pulled up she threw herself out, thankful for the firm ground below her feet.

"Hello?" John said. Alex briefly wondered who he was talking to. Had he found her dad already?It didn't take her long to realise he was on the phone. "Hey, Sherlock, are you OK?"

"Dad?" Alex cried out happily, following John who jogged across the carpark, towards the hospital. There was a pause.

"No, I'm coming in." John said, answering a question that Alex couldn't hear. She saw the look on John's face and her stomach dropped. "Where?" He began walking backwards, stopping by Alex. "Sherlock?" There was a pause. John turned to look up, his face filled with horror. "Oh God."

Alex was almost terrified to follow his gaze but she couldn't help herself. She looked up to the rooftop. At first she didn't recognise him. Of course, she never expected her father to be standing there, on the edge of a rooftop. She felt her blood run cold. Fear washed over her like a shower of rain.

"What's going on?" John asked anxiously. "Wh-what?" Alex stepped closer to John. She wanted to hear what her father was saying. All she could hear so far was John's questions, echoing her own. She had never been so scared in her life. She could hear a faint murmur that was her father's voice.

"Leave a note when?" John asked. Alex felt dizzy. She wasn't stupid. She knew where this was going. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. Then the phone as shoved against her ear. Her hand clasped over it. John said something from next to her. Something about him wanting to speak to her.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

"I'm a fake." Sherlock replied, his voice thick with emotion. She shook her head.

"No you're not." She replied. "Don't lie to me. I'm not stupid." Her father let out an empty, breathy chuckle from the other end of the line.

"I know." He replied.

"Daddy, please." She said, finally breaking down into sobs. "Don't, please. I can't... dad please."

"Goodbye Alex." Sherlock said.

"No." Alex whispered seconds before the phone hung up. John yelled his name but all Alex could do was stare in shock.

There was a blur.

Alex would never forget that moment.

The sight of her father's body flailing as he fell through the air or the loud sound of the crack that rang out through the street.

She ran. John tripped over a bike but she didn't stop running. People started to gather around her father and a sense of rage washed over her. They didn't know him. They tried to push her back but she screamed. She didn't know what she said, something about her father and him not being dead. He was OK and she honestly, with all her heart, believed that. He was Sherlock Holmes. This couldn't be the end. It wasn't. Every time something went wrong Sherlock would smile and fix it. This was all just a trick. He wasn't a detective. He was a magician

She crouched down next to him, expecting a smile and a laugh. He'd tease her about how scared she looked, how sad she was and how she was so stupid but she didn't. She saw bright blue eyes that were usually so alive, so full of life and never calm. Now they were blank. Too blank. They were dead

She didn't realise that she was kneeling in his blood... or shaking him... or letting her tears fall down onto his face or screaming at him. By the time John arrived, taking his pulse in an almost drunken manner, she had been pulled away by a bystander. John's legs gave way underneath him. Paramedics arrived and people tried to soothe Alex, rubbing her back and trying their best to not let her escape from their grip.

"He's not dead!" She screamed. Why wouldn't anyone listen to her? He wasn't dead. Sherlock doesn't die.

Sherlock lives.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_I cry every time I have to write Sherlock's suicide scene oh god. Why would you even..._

_Anyway, I've got a proposition for you. _

_Starting from now. Right now. Any question you send me via review I will answer will all my honesty. It can be about anything. I'd love to hear from you all. I will also bribe you with the promise of free respect. From me. _

_thank you my lovelies. _


	9. Chapter 9

"I want to go home." Alex whispered a few seconds after she shook another stranger's hand and listened to them say that they were 'so sorry'. She hated it. She couldn't stand it. She didn't know these people and she was pretty sure her father hadn't known them either. They came out of nowhere pretending they knew Sherlock so well and loved him so much. Even Anderson and Donovan were there.

"Just a while longer." John mumbled. They were at the wake in a local pub. They had hired out the whole room, hired catering, cakes, drinks even music. The funeral had went well. As well as a funeral could go anyway. It wasn't as if it was going to be a pleasant experience.

"How are you doing?" Lestrade asked, coming out of nowhere and planting a hand on Alexandra's shoulder. He swapped a concerned look with John. He had also noticed that Alex had been almost completely silent through the whole ceremony.

"I want to to go home." She repeated. "I'm tired and I don't want to talk to any more people." Lestrade smiled sympathetically. He had been crying, it was obvious. His eyes red and his sleeves damp from where he had been wiping away the tears.

"You're doing very well." He told her. "He'd be proud of you." Alex's face briefly flashed with pain. Lestrade pulled her into a hug. For a second or so she stood still with shock before awkwardly patting his back in an attempt to return the hug. It was strange. She had never hugged Lestrade. She never thought she ever would. Pulling back she let out a sniffle and pawed at her face, trying to wipe away the tears that gathered in her eyes.

"I need to get some water." She said, clearing her throat before she side stepped away and walked off towards the bar. Lestrade sighed and looked back up at John.

"How's she handling it?" He asked.

"Not well." John replied. "She doesn't sleep and when she does she wakes up with nightmares. She doesn't eat much. She doesn't talk much. She's easily startled. She won't leave the flat. She won't cry in front of people but I can hear her crying at night when she sleeps in his room. For God's sake..." He trailed off, rubbing his temples with the heel of his hand. He took a deep, shaking breath, held it for a few seconds, before letting it out. "I'm taking her to the GP tomorrow. She needs help. She needs proper help."

"If you ever need anything..." Lestrade said, trailing off. John smiled ever so slightly and nodded.

"Thank you." He said, honestly. He knew he wouldn't be able to cope with Alex on his own. He and Sherlock could barely cope with her together. Now Sherlock was gone and Alex was completely messed up in the head. He needed help. "I mean it, really, thank you."

They spoke for a while longer and John was glad of it. He didn't want to continue another awkward conversation with somebody who he didn't know. Somebody who assumed he and Sherlock were dating. Eventually, Lestrade went off to get some food and John decided to find Alex before anyone else could grab him and tell him they were 'so sorry for his loss'.

He found her standing in the corner, a soft drink in her hand and a woman standing opposite her. The woman had her back to John but he could see Alex. She looked distressed, her arms crossed over her chest in a sort of hug and her entire body seemed tense. Her lips pressed together into a thin line and her eyes, Sherlock's eyes, were staring harshly at the person talking to her.

"I don't care." John heard her say when he got close enough to hear. He placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at the woman standing in front of her. He didn't really realise who the woman was. She looked somewhat familiar but he didn't actually recognise her. It was almost as if he was seeing somebody in a dream.

"Everything OK?" He asked, looking down at Alex.

"We haven't met." The woman said with a smile, offering her hand for John to shake. He reached out and shook it somewhat reluctantly. "My name's Lori Evans. I'm Alexandra's mother."

"The term mother used very loosely here." Alex hissed under her breath, looking down at her feet.

"Oh." John breathed. That's why she looked familiar. She was the woman who grinned back at him from the newspaper that Alex had brought into the flat a good few months ago.

"You must be John Watson." Alex's mother said, her voice stiff and hard. "You were Alex's father's... flatmate?"

"Best friend." Alex corrected. "And basically my second parent." John looked down at her in shock. After living with Sherlock for so long it was still strange to hear someone compliment him. He smiled to himself and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Not that you would know, of course but that's what happens when you abandon your daughter for ten years."

"Alexandra..." Lori sighed, shaking her head.

"Why are you even here?" Alex snapped, her voice raising louder than before. A few eyes glanced over at them. "So you can sell your story to the newspapers again? That must be the reason. You can't be here out of respect because you have none. He hated you and so do I."

"I'm here, Alexandra, to get back into your life."

"Why on Earth would I want you in my life?" Alex snapped. "It's been ten years and you only show up when there's publicity and money involved."

"I'm your mother." Lori replied, somewhat calmly.

"I have no mother." Alex hissed slowly and evenly. Lori didn't flinch. She didn't seem insulted or upset. Alex, on the other hand, seemed as if she was going to burst into tears or explode into a fountain or rage.

"Maybe we should do this another time." John offered, trying to defuse the tension but nobody listened to him.

"Your father would have wanted me to take care of you if couldn't." Lori tried. Even John was taken back by this. Alex froze. Her mouth hung open in shock. Her expression went from shocked to hurt. She shook her head in disbelief.

"How dare you pretend to know what my dad would have wanted!" She yelled. The room went silent.

"Leave it, Alex." John whispered as he tried to pull her back. She shook his hand away. She, like her father, was far too stubborn. She rolled her shoulders back in an attempt to seem bigger, more confident.

"You don't know my dad." She spat. "You don't know me. I don't want anything to do with you."

"He's turned you against me." Lori said, her eyes filling with tears. John sighed and tried again to pull Alexandra away. Lestrade was there now, standing behind them, watching like most people were. "You used to love me."

"I hated you the moment you sold that story to the newspaper." Alex replied. "All those lies. How could you?"

"I don't need to justify myself." Lori mumbled, looking down at her purse. She pulled her phone out of it, completely ignoring everyone in the room. Alex tried to say something. Her mouth opened and closed helplessly.

"Come on, Alex. It's time to go home." John said softly. She gave in. She felt her body deflate slightly. She was tired and upset. She wanted to go home and cry. She wanted her dad to come home and tell her she was pathetic for crying over somebody so insignificant. God, she just wanted her dad back.

"I'll call you." Lori said. She looked up and flashed a big fake grin. Alex stared back at her blankly for a second or so before lifting up her drink. She went to take a gulp of it, down the rest of it quickly so it wasn't wasted and then she could leave, but she decided that there was a better use for it. The rest was a blur after that. Her drink was suddenly splashed across her mother's face. John was ushering out of the room. The cold air was biting at her and there was too much emotion clawing its way out of her chest.

She was pushed into a taxi. As it start to drive away she could vaguely hear the humming of someone trying to talk to her. Her head was buzzing. It got louder and louder and louder until she felt herself snap. She let out a loud sob and collapsed into herself. Her forehead pressed against her knees as she sobbed hysterically, gasping for breath between each sob.

"It's OK." John's voice said as a hand rubbed her back. "It's OK. You're going to be OK."

"Why did he have to do it?" She yelled into her lap. Her fists clenched around handfuls of her hair. Her face burnt and her body shook. "Why did he leave us?"

"I don't know." John whispered honestly, pulling her towards him. She cried hysterically until they got back to the flat where she didn't stop bawling until she fell asleep in her father's chair.

John watched her for a while. It was only then that it really hit him how much she looked like her father. The cheek bones, the paleness of her skin and the dark curls of her hair that hung around her face and clung to her damp face. He took a step back and looked around the room, trying not to be too reminded of his late friend. He didn't want to cry or break down. It was useless. Everything in the flat was Sherlock's. Everything reminded him of his laugh and his smile and how bloody annoying he was most of the time.

And that's when John decided that he couldn't live in this flat anymore.

/

"Post-traumatic stress disorder." Alex said stood against the grimy wall of John's flat. John's flat. He had moved out now. He was in a 'temporary flat' while he tried to find a better one. One without mold on the walls and criminals on either side of him. Alex put on a brave face and said she was fine but she hated being alone. The flat was so empty. It was like living inside of a skeleton without her father or John. "I thought you could only get that if you had served in the army. Like you." John shook his head with a small smile. "It took them so long to diagnose it because it 'usually goes away after four weeks'. Bullshit, that's just an excuse. I think they just forgot about me."

"It explains the nightmares." John said with a shrug after taking a sip of his coffee. "And the flashbacks and the anxiety and the depression." He wanted to add that it didn't really take the doctors so long to diagnose her. It took her far too long to actually go to the doctor's. She had only just managed to force herself to go a few months ago and it was now coming up to the anniversary of her father's death.

"I hate those words." Alex grumbled, throwing her head back She watched John as he tried to sort out the letters and paper work that all came with moving house. "Could they not use nicer, less terrifying words."

"What did the doctors suggest?" John asked.

"Cognitive behavioural therapy, group therapy, self help books and medication." She said, staring at a spider that had claimed John's flat as his home. There was a dull thudding from the room above. Alex didn't exactly want to think about what that could be. These neighbours were rough. The sooner John moved the better.

"What do you think about that?" John asked delicately, looking over at Alexandra. She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself into a slight hug.

"I don't know." She whispered. "Whatever stops my mind feeling like I've fallen down a deep, dark pit." She thought for a second. Voices yelled from the floor below. "And gives me a decent night sleep." She pushed herself up from the wall she was leaning on and strolled towards the lumpy sofa in the corner of the room. "Personally, I don't think I have any sort of disorder or illness. Is there really any normal or proper way to react to seeing your father jump to his death?"

John looked up at her quickly. She stared ahead blankly as she dropped down into her seat. She did that a lot lately. Talking about her father with no emotion or feeling. It was worrying to say the least to see how numb she was.

"When I get a new flat..." John started, his voice steady. He didn't know why he was saying this now. He had been thinking about it for a while but didn't know why on earth he was announcing it right at at that moment. "I'm going to look for a two bedroom flat."

"Why?" Alex asked, not exactly sounding as interested as John hoped she would.

"I want you to have your own room when you come to visit." He said, catching her attention. She looked up at him, slightly confused but with a small smile spreading over her face. "It must get lonely in that flat by yourself. If you need to... get away, I want you to have somewhere to go."

"I can stay with you?" She asked softly.

"Whenever you want." John confirmed. "For as long as you want." She leapt to her feet, throwing herself across the room until she stumbled into him. Wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her face into her shoulder, she let herself grin. Tears welled up in her eyes but she didn't really want John to know.

"You're the best parent I still have." She mumbled into his jumper. She felt John return the hug, patting her back. She sniffed slightly to regain herself before pulling back. She smiled up at him. "Foster parent." He smiled back and ruffled her hair, knowing if he tried to say anything he'd probably just start crying. He pulled her back into a hug before she could see the tears that gathered in his eyes.

They stayed like that for a few more seconds before John managed to take a gulp of air and regain himself. "One condition." He said. He heard Alex groan. She pulled back and looked up at him with a frown. "Go to the therapy sessions, go to group support, read the self-help books. Do anything you can do to help yourself get better." Alex looked up at him, tears in her eyes that she didn't want to spill. "Promise?"

"Promise." She whispered.

/

**_A/N: _**_That was hard to write, damn. Anyway, I hope you're having a lovely day and I thank you so much for taking the time to read his. Review! I absolutely adore hearing from you all :)_


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